


Finding Your Balance

by Aletea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Physical Abuse, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Spies, Undercover Missions, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aletea/pseuds/Aletea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is a veteran who works security for a prominent businessman under investigation for his involvement in controversial medical technology. Enter Steve Rogers, a new hire who happens to be a childhood friend he hasn't seen in 18 years…and an undercover SHIELD agent. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) While this is still a work in progress, it's gearing up to be a very long story. Currently it looks to end up around 100,000 words in total, although that could change.
> 
> 2) This will eventually be Stucky, but it's a VERY slow burn. The boys have a lot of issues to work through, not to mention the plot, before they get there. 
> 
> 3) Be aware of the warnings. PTSD plays a very big part in this story, and this chapter starts off with a bang in that regard. I will do my best to note specific trigger warnings on a chapter-by-chapter basis.

The sharp smell of coffee was a relief to Bucky as he shut the door behind him. The acrid gasoline scent was now being overpowered, but he could still smell it even as he slid into  the line of early morning coffee seekers. He could almost swear it was getting stronger, despite all logic telling him he'd left the angry driver arguing with the cop outside, his car spilling fuel as he tried to explain why it wasn't his fault.  
   
Things like that were never the driver's fault. No, it was always a wayward dog, rolling trash can, or maybe that fence just happened to leap out onto the road and drag the car back over to the sidewalk with it.  
   
Focus. The murmur of people ordering their coffee. The tinkle of the bell as a person left - male? He should know. He always knows. He has to know, has to keep watch-  
   
Bucky takes in a breath, and lets the air out slowly through his nose. Three people in front of him. Two women, one elderly and  frail, unlikely to be a threat. Other seemingly distracted, on her phone. Could be a trick to make herself appear non-threatening. Third person male, physically fit, a jacket long enough to cover a weapon. Another woman, young, familiar, behind the counter. Possible hiding place under the counter.  
   
Focus. He needed to focus on the uneven clank of the machines and screech of the espresso machine. They're familiar sounds. They're safe.  
   
He's been in this place so often that he knows the layout well, but he still can't stop himself from scanning - one glass front door, two windows, one large and one small - for anything out of the ordinary. The small window in the side wall is too small to be much of a threat, but the large one is a potential risk. The shop is set into the ground, making the window slightly less vulnerable, as it looks into a small space with stairs rather than the open street. The back has a door to the bathroom, a hallway to a staff area. Potential hiding place. Potential back entrance from the alleyway. Potential escape. Potential ambush.  
   
_Potential goddamn dancing coffee cups. Get a grip, Barnes. ___  
  
The elderly woman leaves, vanilla scented concoction in hand. Bucky briefly looks down, realizes he's clenching the left fist repeatedly, working the fabric of his glove between the fingers until it's at danger of ripping. He closes his eyes just for a moment, to try and calm himself, and then abruptly breaks away from the line, moving towards the back, to the staff restroom he know is located there. He ignores the sign declaring no public restrooms. They can break the door down and drag him out if they care that much.  
   
Locks the door with his right hand. He can't trust the left now, but his right is trembling as he twists the lock shut. Breathe, focus. The smell of coffee is fainter, the stench of cleaning chemicals more notable here. But the gasoline, he can still smell the gasoline.  
   
Bucky moves to the sink, flips on the water and just tries to listen to that rush, and not the steadily growing roar in his head. Flips water on his face, the cold water shocking him to a moment of awareness, and he stares at the mirror. He momentarily has the urge to just bury his face in the cold water, until that's all he can feel and hear and taste and he can't smell anything at all.  
   
Just breathe. Focus on the rush of water, the tang of chemicals overlaid with coffee. No gasoline, there's no gasoline in the bathroom with him. He's in a coffee shop in Brooklyn, not outside in searing sunlight and dust and dirt. The rush of the water seems distant, even though it's right there with him.  
   
Bucky doesn't know how long he spends just listening to the rush of the water, and struggling for some sort of balance, before he shakily undoes the lock to the door and returns to the shop. He expects stares or suspiciously averted eyes - hell, he'd expected a knock on the door and a request to leave - but instead it's as it was before. Different customers in the line, but the smiling barista has turned to talk to him before he can properly assess them all. Familiar, small and non-athletic, but could conceal a knife in her apron.  
   
What's her name? He knows her. He sees her most mornings, has to fight off her chipper attempts at conversation. Why can't he remember her name?  
   
"Oh, James! I went ahead and made your regular for you. You seemed like you were in a hurry."  
   
It takes Bucky a moment, as he blinks at her, to put her words together in a way that makes sense to him. And then realizes there's a large latte resting on the counter, his name scrawled on the side in looping script.  
   
"Right. Uh, thanks," He mumbles, sliding out his wallet, hands over a few bills.  
   
The barista's smile falters, and her expression changes to a frown. It takes Bucky another moment to realize why, that he's gotten the money wet. His gloves, he didn't take off his gloves before using the sink. His right hand feels soggy.  
   
"You look a little off this morning, maybe you should go get some rest?"  
   
Bucky takes the coffee, grunting out words in a combination meant to be some sort of goodbye, but he's not sure it comes out as anything more than a garbled mess of sound. Turns towards the door, lowering his head to his coffee as he does so.  
   
And then, before opening the door, he removes the lid so that he can get as much of the scent as he can. He catches a called out, "Feel better!" as he exits.  
   
And then Bucky walks away from the shop, past the car still leaking gasoline while its owner gets handcuffed and read his rights by the cop. Apparently she didn't buy his moving fence story, or whatever crap he'd dreamed up. Couldn't have been in there too long, if that asshat's only now getting arrested. Bucky just sticks his nose in as close to the cup as he can, breathing in that sweet coffee scent, and focuses on just putting one foot in front of the other.  
   
Finally, Bucky trails to a stop, walking up the steps and sitting down with his back against the wall of his building. All he can smell now is coffee. Well, he also gets a whiff of garbage, but at least he knows _that ___scent is actually there and not some malicious echo in his brain. He can hear the sounds of the city waking up, even if the people in it just want to sleep.  
   
The sun's not even up yet, and all he wants to do is crawl up to his apartment and go back to bed.  
   
"Start to a wonderful day here, Barnes." His voice is raspy, but at least he can put the words together. Even if he's only talking to himself. He takes a sip, having almost forgotten that he could drink it, that it was more than just a scent.  
   
Ah, that's why he needs to drink it. The intermingled sweet and bitter, the creaminess. Bucky finds the fog clearing away with each sip, and starts to feel more like he's actually there in Brooklyn, sitting on the steps in the slowly growing light, and not halfway around the world with his life being blown to bits. Starts to feel like he's a person, instead of a tangled mess of guard dog and robot.  
   
He removes his right glove, the slightly damp feeling having graduated to unpleasantly cold. He doesn't bother to remove the left. It's not like he can feel it.  
   
And then Bucky sits there, finishing his coffee and trying to regain a sense of the world. He watches the morning commuters pass by, honking horns at pedestrians who refuse to look too closely at each other as they scurry, each clearly on their way to Somewhere Very Important on this early fall morning.  
   
And if Bucky scans each person for potential weapons,  runs his eyes over the windows of the building opposite, the nearby rooftops - well, at least everything he's hearing and seeing is meant to be there. He'll take whatever sort of calm he can grasp.  
   
He still has to go to work, after all. The day's just beginning.  
   
\----  
   
"Running a little late this morning,  Mr. Barnes."  
   
The man sitting at the security desk in the lobby isn't what Bucky would consider intimidating, but then again, that's not really necessary for the job. Despite the title, the job was about checking IDs and being alert, not taking action.  So an aging man with a bit of pouch, an easy smile and watchful eyes was perfect for the job. He knew who to call if there was a real threat.  
   
Bucky quirked the corner of his mouth up, approximating a smile, "Hard to get out the door some mornings, you know how it is."  
   
His attempt at a smile must have come out right, as Melvin - still couldn't believe that was the guy's name, even if he saw it on the ID badge almost every damn day - laughed in response, "I'm with you on that."  
   
_Unlikely. ___  
  
"He in yet?" Bucky asks, swiping his ID badge across the scanner.  
   
"What, the big boss or your new hire?" Melvin shook his head, "Neither. New hire's not due for a little longer, anyway. You aren't that late, just late for you."  
   
Which translated into technically on time, but still late enough to get reamed for it.  
   
Bucky flicked his fingers at Melvin in a brief goodbye, before entering the elevator and swiping his badge across the screen to get access to his floor. He counted four people in the elevator with him, none of them going to the same floor, and all of them vaguely familiar. Lab techs or scientists, maybe, with the floors they're going to. All of them wearing light jackets, one long enough to cover the waist and hips. Bucky almost wished it was summer again, for all that he hated the heat, just so that it'd be more fucking obvious if someone was trying to hide something.  
   
One of the techs, slight build, male, was reaching into his jacket. Could be a gun, could be-  
   
A fucking phone. Goddamnit.  
   
Bucky made it to his floor without incident, none of the lab workers so much as looking at him, too distracted with the incoming work day to care about the security punk glowering at them all from the back corner. Well, he might have freaked out that little curly-haired lab tech a bit. He'd scurried out of the elevator so quickly that Bucky's last view before the elevator doors closed, was him apologizing frantically as he tried to help pick up papers and folders while an admin scowled angrily.  
   
Maybe they weren't as distracted by work as they'd looked. _They're like ostriches. Stick your head down, pretend he can't see you, maybe you won't get dragged into a security office and interrogated. ___  
  
Any amusement from that thought shatters away as Bucky gets off the elevator, to be greeted by a snapped out, "Did you stop to flirt with the damn barista? You need coffee that bad, we've got it here."  
   
They had coffee, decent enough. Wasn't the sludge he'd drank at plenty of jobs, that's for sure. But he'd learned early on that routine was important, that it helped, even if his had been fucked with this morning. Besides, it wasn't the coffee that had slowed him down. It was coffee-tangential stuff.  
   
Rumlow brushed aside his apology as Bucky entered the security office, past the assistant at her desk, who somehow always managed to look bored and distracted even when workers were getting chewed out or fired in front of her.  
   
Brock Rumlow was still scowling at him, his scruff a sign that he hadn't taken much time with his own morning routine however late of a night they'd had. As head of the security team, Rumlow had an obsessive focus on his job, and didn't let anything interfere with that. If he was there early, he expected everyone to be.  
   
"I was thinking about where to position the new guy," Finally letting his scowl fade away, Rumlow continued, "I want you to handle him, keep an eye on him until we see how he does on the job."  
   
"That mean I'm getting the crap jobs too?" Bucky grimaced. Damn Russo. They were supposed to go over the schedule, decide on placements after their manpower got screwed by Russo getting injured. The new guy had to fit in somewhere, but just putting him in Russo's slot was a bad idea. Rumlow had said he had good recs, but that didn't mean much when they hadn't worked with him before. They wouldn't want to trust him in a solo role just yet.  
   
It was unlikely they'd have any issues in the States, but they were going overseas in a few days. They needed to know if they could rely on this guy before then.  
   
"You'll damn well like it, Barnes," Rumlow smirked at him, "Getting to sit in the car and keep watch while Rollins and I sit through these meetings. You should be grateful I'm giving it to you, paint dries faster than those negotiations are hashed out."  
   
_Yeah right. Sit in a car with a stranger, in line of sight of how many rooftops and windows? I'd take the closed off room with a finite number of people, thanks. Who cares if it's fucking boring. ___  
  
Bucky just grunts, and Rumlow takes it as a sign of agreement. He knows better than to complain about an assignment.  
   
His ear piece crackles then with a notification from the overnight security team, giving the ETA for their boss's arrival at the office. That was followed almost immediately by the assistant buzzing the intercom, letting them know that the new hire is here and she's having him sent up.  
   
Rumlow glanced over at the security feed on his desk. "This Rogers guy had better be as good as my buddy claimed. It's going to be shit if we have to replace him before we fly out, and I do not want to be down a man out there," Rumlow shook his head with a grimace.  
   
Bucky felt his breath stutter for a moment before returning to normal. But he knew it wasn't him. Rumlow had a thing about hiring vets, and there was no fucking way anyone would have let his scrawny ass enlist. It'd been 18 years, and he still did that every time he'd heard the name, or some variation on it. He still looked for some skinny blonde punk, and it always turned out to be some pudgy middle-aged balding guy named Roger.

At least this one probably wasn't a pudgy, middle-aged balding guy.  
   
The elevator gave a ding, and Rumlow headed out of the office to greet the new hire, Bucky following behind him. And then a blonde giant got off the elevator, and for a moment, Bucky thought he was hallucinating. That he was seeing an echo, the gaunt shadow of a long ago friend superimposed over the tall, muscled vet who had entered the room. Maybe he was having some sort of stress-induced hallucination, his nerves from this morning finally tipping him over the edge.  
   
He continued to think this even as he probably looked like a fucking psycho, staring at the guy. He continued to think it, up until those blue eyes fixed on his, and a voice that seemed simultaneously familiar and strange, deeper than he remembered but with the same inflections, said a name that he hadn't heard for what seemed like a lifetime. A name he still thought of himself by, even if he never spoke it aloud.  
   
"Bucky?"  
   
And he just stared a moment longer, vaguely aware that there were two other people in the room, but only in the way you're aware of a painting on the wall or the color of the carpet. Then he managed, raspy but there, " _Steve? ___"  
   
"Wait, you know each other? And what the hell kind of name is Bucky?"  
   
Rumlow was talking, and if Bucky still couldn't tear his eyes away, at least he could manage a response, "A childhood one."  
   
The giant - _Steve ___\- raised a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck. God, he still did that. He grew a foot and packed on muscle like a fucking linebacker, but he still did that. "We haven't seen each other since  we were kids. You, uh, you work here, Buck?"  
   
Bucky managed a sharp nod, feeling at a complete loss of what to do. He had the urge to reach out, to do something - hug the guy? Shake his hand? It was ridiculous, he was a 6 foot something giant, not some scrawny teenager who didn't even weigh 100 pounds. And he couldn't. He just couldn't, not here, not with Rumlow watching. And there were a million questions careening through his head -  
   
_Where the hell have you been? How the fuck did you convince anyone to let you enlist? What_ happened _to you? ___  
  
But he couldn’t. His mouth just wouldn't open again, as he just stood there woodenly, staring like a fucking idiot. He saw Steve's hand twitch in some quickly aborted motion, and the guy's eyes darted between him and Rumlow. Well, at least he wasn’t alone in this, the big guy seemed about as lost as him.  
   
"Well, you two can have your _reunion ___later," Rumlow bit out the words,  a mocking twist to them that drew a startled look from Steve. "But right now we have work to do."  
   
"Right, of course." Bucky watched Steve draw himself up, professionalism returning to his expression and demeanor, even if he kept flicking his eyes over to watch Bucky. "Thank you again, sir."  
   
"Yeah well, you came with high recommendations. We needed someone short notice, and you fit the bill," Rumlow's mood seemed to have soured, and it looked like Steve was unsure of how to take it. 18 years, and Bucky still felt like he could read the guy's expression in a heartbeat. The confused turn to his mouth, the uncertain set of his shoulder when he was trying to figure something out. Weren't people supposed to change in that kind of time?  
   
Then again, going from a mouthy brat who didn't weigh 100 pounds soaking wet to someone who looks like they stepped out of a war-time propaganda poster is a pretty big fucking change.  
   
But Rumlow was right, they had work to do. Maybe he'd even have the time to figure out what the hell to say.  
   
\----  
   
Bucky was wrong. He hadn't thought of the words to say. Or rather, there were too many words, all spinning around in his head like they were caught in a fucking hurricane, slamming up against the silence between them in the car. Of course they'd be stuck in the goddamn car together, keeping watch and parked out on the street, stuck on follow car duty.  
   
Which meant that for the duration of the next however many hours, Bucky was trapped in a car with the Great Wall of Silence between him and a ghost. The boss had a string of meetings in the city, and while they were at stop number one, they needed to be ready to go at a moment's notice for the next. On top of that, his nerves from this morning were in overdrive and he couldn't stop scanning the buildings around them, the pedestrians walking by.  
   
He might seriously implode if something didn't happen soon. The tension was just going to push in on him like a bubble until he popped.  
   
"I really missed you, Buck." Bucky manages to tear his eyes away from their surroundings to focus in on the man next to him. Steve is looking at him with his big dopey eyes all earnest and hopeful, "Are you angry? You know I wouldn't have left if I'd had a choice."  
   
The punk should patent that look and sell it. Although it oddly reassured him to see that Steve still had that look in his arsenal, even if now it looked less like an underfed puppy begging for attention and more like a repentant golden retriever.  
   
Bucky scoffed at him, before letting out a sigh. "Steve, I get it. I'm not blaming you. I just…what do we say? Where do we even start? It's been a long damn time."  
   
"I can start with I'm sorry. I got us into that fight, I shouldn't have let it go so far, backed down or-"  
   
Bucky let out a huff that felt almost like the start of a laugh, warmth in his chest. "You, back down? Are you sure you've met yourself? Because the guy I knew, he wouldn't back down in a fight even if somebody was holding a gun to his head."  
   
Steve gave a chuckle, lowering his head for a moment with a small smile playing on his lips. "I really can't argue with that."  
   
"You're damn right you can't argue with it."  
   
Bucky was trying to keep his eyes on their surroundings, but was finding it surprisingly difficult. Part of it was the mental chant in his head of _Steve, Steve, Steve ___, the other part was that whenever he wasn't looking at the guy, he kept catching him in his peripheral vision and feeling his heart jump. He knew it was Steve, but that didn't stop his brain from shrieking that he was stuck in an enclosed space with a stranger and gigantic fucking threat only an arm's length away, every moment that he wasn't actively reminding himself who it was.  
   
"Besides, it was only a matter of time before they'd split us up. If it wasn't those guys, it would have been someone else in a month or two,"  Bucky knew there was only one way things were going to end. In retrospect, it was kind of surprising they hadn't been split up earlier, all the fights they'd gotten into. "The uh, the new foster you got sent to - they treat you right?"  
   
"Yeah. The Erskines, they were good people." Steve's smile had turned a bit gentler, fonder.  
   
Silence set back in, but this time it's more comfortable than confining. It felt easy, not like he's going to choke on it. There's still so fucking much he wanted to talk to Steve about, but his mind felt more ordered now. There was still a swirl of words, but now it had settled and was more gentle spin than hurricane-force.  
   
But then, he guessed Steve might have a small hurricane of his own going in that oversized noggin, so at least he wasn't alone. Steve had redirected his gaze out his own window, chewing on his bottom lip before glancing back over at Bucky.  
   
"If you don't mind me asking, what's with the gloves?"  
   
_Goddamn it Steve, you just have to ask all the wrong questions, don't you? ___  
  
Bucky stopped his fingers from tapping on the wheel, looking at them for a moment. He'd changed gloves after soaking the ones he was wearing this morning. He preferred the looks he got for being the freak always wearing gloves even in the midst of a heat wave, than the looks he got after people saw the left hand.  
   
Carefully, he reached out and peeled the glove off of his left hand, turning towards Steve and holding it up for him to see. And then he forced himself to watch Steve's expression, bracing for pity, disgust, fear. Instead, he just sees surprise, Steve's eyes slightly widened and his mouth opened slightly. And then sees Steve's eyes dart towards his other hand, the question clear even without being spoken.  
   
"Other hand's still there. This one is courtesy of our employer." Gleaming metal, articulate fingers. A network of sensors to help him direct force properly, to help him balance. It was an amazing piece of equipment, and something Bucky never could have afforded on his own. He'd probably have some plastic crap that didn't move. Even if he never got over feeling like it wasn't really his, even if there were days where it made his shoulder ache enough that he felt like ripping the whole damn thing off, he'd never get over how grateful he was to have it.  
   
"That's just, wow." Steve didn't seem to know what to say. "I can't say I was expecting that, Buck."  
   
"You and me both, pal." Bucky could see the conflict on Steve's face, the guy was so damn easy to read. Knew he wanted to ask questions, but at the same time, didn't want to push. "Not here."  
   
"Sorry?"  
   
Bucky let out a slow breath of air, switching his eyes back to the road. Talking to Steve was like a fucking roller coaster, except he couldn't see whether he was about to go up the track or coming crashing down. "I can't talk about that shit here. Later. After work."  
   
"Yeah, no problem Bucky. We can do that." Steve paused for a moment, before continuing in a low voice, "I have to say though, that's looks like some good work there."  
   
Bucky flicked his eyes down to the left hand, and rested it back against the steering wheel, "Yeah. I don't think I'll ever get over how lucky I was to be at the VA on the day Alexander Pierce came to visit."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I'm planning on an update schedule of posting one chapter per week, but was eager to get this one out a little early. 
> 
> 2) I just wanted to say thank you for the lovely comments and kudos! I've had lots of experience with academic writing, but this is the first time in over ten years I've actually posted any kind of fiction, so the support is much appreciated. 
> 
> 3) Check end notes for specific trigger warnings.

"Ah, and this must be the new member of our team."  
   
Alexander Pierce moved towards them as they came into the office. Bucky stepped off to the side next to the Rumlow, close to the wall where they could watch both the door and the wall of windows at the other end.  
   
"I've heard good things about you.  I trust my chief of security, of course, but I like to meet all members of my detail in person," Pierce had stepped up to Steve, shaking his hand. The older man's glasses caught a glint of sunlight from the window as he did so, making Bucky flinch.  
   
He really wished Pierce would close the damn blinds when the sun was at this point in the sky. There was a slow pounding behind his eyes from state of tension he'd been in all day, and the sun hitting just the right point on its descent to cast bright light into the room with them was not helping.  
   
"Thank you sir." 

Pierce stepped back from Steve, studying him for a moment before offering a smile and strolling back towards his desk. "So tell me, what do you think of everything so far?"  
   
While there hadn't been too much turnover in Pierce's close staff in the few years since Bucky had joined, he had seen a few people cycle in and out. Enough to at least recognize what this was. Pierce let Rumlow pick his security team, but Pierce always made sure to have a little conversation with any staffer who worked this closely with him, no matter their role. Always the same seemingly innocuous questions, and often bland conversation.  
   
Sometimes the new staffer was almost immediately moved to another position, other times they seemed to climb the ranks more quickly than he'd expect. There were even instances where he'd seen people let go for just not fitting with the company culture, whatever the hell that meant. And it all tied back to this conversation and whatever it was Pierce got out of it.  
   
"I glad to be here. This company has done a lot of good work." Steve had been holding himself stiffly in the center of the room, almost as if he were at attention. But then he loosened slightly, seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something more.  
   
_Come on Steve, don’t yourself fired on the first day. ___  
  
"Go on. You have a question?" Pierce had turned, leaning against his desk and watching Steve closely. He still had a smile on his face, an encouraging tone in his voice, but Bucky had seen how easily he could work people over with that smile still present. The older man had a talent for convincing someone to tie their own noose.  
   
"Not so much a question, just I'm surprised at how extensive the security set up is."  
   
Really, _Steve? That's what you focus on? The guy's the CEO of a company worth more than most people could even dream of, and you're confused that he needs security? ___  
  
Bucky briefly wondered if Steve's brain had shrunk when he grew all those extra muscles. Who wouldn't have this kind of security if they could afford it? Hopefully whatever Pierce was looking for in this conversation wasn't goddamn smarts.  
   
Pierce nodded agreeably at Steve, reaching out for the glass of water sitting on his desk. "It's doesn't seem quite necessary here in New York, I know. But we go all over the world for this work. We'll reach out to whatever brilliant minds we find, regardless of whether they have the backing of multi-million dollar institutes in well-established and stable countries, or whether they're in places that are…less stable."  
   
That was putting it mildly. Bucky really didn't think most companies were willing to send their CEOs to some of the places Pierce went.  
   
"And of course, some of those less stable areas are the ones that need us the most," Pierce took a sip of his water before continuing, "But even in this enlightened city, we have our problems. Just look at Barnes here."  
   
Bucky tensed up as three pairs of eyes suddenly looked at him, feeling hyper aware of the heavy weight on his left shoulder.  
   
"His arm's one of ours, a wonderful piece of machinery that doesn't just makes him a useful part of society. It makes him more effective, better than he could have ever been without it." Bucky saw a slight squint starting in Steve's eyes, a flintiness that he recognized as the infamous Rogers temper growing. He couldn't be sure what had triggered it, but he knew to be wary.  
   
He suddenly hoped that Steve had learned some self-control in the years since he'd last seen him.  
   
"Yet there are people who look at the amazing things we've created, like that arm, and clamor that we're turning people into weapons. They try and blockade our offices with their protests, send meaningless threats and complain to their congressman. They'd rather see men like Barnes just fixed, returned to how they were before," Pierce put down the glass, fixing his intent gaze on Steve, "Or worse, left in pieces. But I don't want to see men fixed. I want to remake them into something more. Something better."  
   
No one was looking at him anymore, but Bucky still felt his shoulders hunched in as he tried to mentally will Steve to just keep his fucking mouth shut. He knew that squint around Steve's eyes, that twist of his mouth.  
   
"What you and your company do is extremely important. I'm just glad I can help in some way."  
   
_What? ___  
  
Bucky stared at Steve, relieved but baffled. All the signs were there, the tension visible in his shoulders that he had always associated with an outburst. But his voice was earnest, even if the rest of him read of outrage. And from the approving smile that had bloomed on Pierce's face, and the way Rumlow seemed to relax beside him, he was the only one here who could read that outrage.  
   
"I'm glad to hear that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to discuss."  
   
Bucky moved towards the door, Steve joining him, and as the door shut he caught a brief glimpse of Pierce having sat at his desk, and Rumlow standing before him.  
   
In a low voice, mindful of the nearby assistant who always seemed a bit too disinterested, Bucky said, "Well, you've learned some self-control."  
   
There was more of a strained quality in Steve's voice when he spoke this time, "The work they do here is important."  
   
Huh. He hadn't really expected Steve to double down.  
   
"Yeah, it is." Bucky agreed, and just watched Steve for a moment, still trying to figure it out. They both stood there for a few long moments, Bucky watching Steve even as Steve refused to look at him. And he was aware of a new set of eyes on them, Pierce's assistant's curiosity finally having been sparked by the two of them just standing there.  
   
He had spent too many years watching the guy for the signs of an impending outburst of injustice-fueled anger, spent too many years pulling him out of trouble, to not recognize it. Something Pierce said had pushed Steve to that edge, but the Steve that he'd known wouldn't have had anything to pull him back from it.  
   
Steve turned and marched towards the security office, even as Bucky stood and watched him for several moments before slowly following.  
   
Maybe Steve really had changed.  
   
\---  
   
"Somehow, everyone always thought you were the troublemaker."  
   
"Yeah, right. I was just picking up your punk ass after you mouthed off to the wrong person-"  
   
"Or were stopping them from breaking me in half."  
   
"But no, you were the saint and I was the guy who kept dragging you into fights," Bucky took a long drink of his beer, leaning back in his chair with a level of ease at their conversation that he wouldn't have thought possible earlier. His headache was still present, but had receded to a low ache he could mostly ignore.  
   
He thought it would feel strange having Steve sitting in his cramped kitchen, legs stretched out and stupidly large hand clenched around a bottle of his beer. But it didn't feel strange. It felt like they'd done this a million times before, despite the fact that the last time they'd seen each other, beer wasn't exactly on the menu. At least not openly.  
   
Steve had tried to invite him out to a bar after work, a more neutral location, but Bucky knew that wouldn't have worked. He sure as hell wouldn't have been able to talk to the guy in a place like that, much less relax enough to have a drink himself. No, if he was going to talk to Steve, it had to be somewhere he felt safe enough to let down his guard.  
   
And Bucky wanted so badly to just be able to enjoy seeing the guy again, to make that little chant of _Steve, Steve, Steve ___in his head drown out the high alert that always kept his eyes moving and his muscles tensed.  
   
That little voice clamoring for him to keep watch in his head had quieted down to a whisper, still present but seeming to accept that everything was under control for the moment. Bucky watched Steve take a drink of his own beer, head tilted back and Adam's apple bobbing, and considered that he might have an easier time ignoring that voice if the other guy hadn't turned into a fucking giant. He just had to keep reminding himself who this was, which turned out to be easier than he thought it'd be when Steve kept giving him that goofy smile.  
   
Bucky wasn't the only one who seemed more relaxed out of the office.  
   
"They probably thought I'd be a nightmare after you got shipped off," Bucky shook his head in mockery at the idea. Not to say that he hadn't gotten into a fair amount of trouble all by his lonesome, but he was plenty willing to keep his head down, his mouth shut, his nose clean. Couldn't say that for the guy sitting across from him, who vocally clamored against every little injustice.  
   
Or at least, who used to.  
   
"Did they wind up moving you too?" Steve's gaze was wandering around the kitchen as he spoke, seeming to take it all in. It was cramped and worn, just a small space for a table and a couple chairs along with a short wall of counters and appliances, but Bucky just hadn't seen the point of bothering to find a place with a nice kitchen. He hardly spent any time in here, and guests weren't really something he'd worried about before. At the very least, they didn't spend a whole lot of time in his kitchen.  
   
"Yeah. They said a new environment was best, or hell, I don't know. Maybe the Everetts just didn't wanna deal with me without you there. I didn't go far though, not like you getting sent out to some podunk town in the middle of nowhere."  
   
This Steve was familiar, but there was also something different whirring away inside his head that Bucky just didn't get. It made him feel a little unbalanced, like the world wasn't right unless he knew exactly what made Steve tick. He couldn't help but hope to get some kind of insight into what had happened at the office earlier that day, to start to learn more about the man that Steve had grown into.  
   
"So I guess you're not still getting into fights with guys twice your size for littering." Bucky enjoyed the warm bubbling feeling in his chest, the way it just felt right seeing Steve's expression shift into one of embarrassment with color rising into his cheeks.  
   
_I got you there, you big dork. You might be a giant now, but you still blush like little Stevie. ___  
  
Steve raised one hand, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. "I was 10 when that happened. You have to give me some kind of leeway for that. And you know it wasn't about the littering, he made Eva cry."  
   
"Yeah, excuses, excuses, pal." Steve was right, but that didn't mean he had to admit it.  
   
They'd been together in the Everetts home for a few months at that point, and were still trying to figure each other out. He hadn't known what to make of the kid dropped off at the home only a few weeks after he'd been placed there himself. This scrawny kid, a year younger than him with a rebellious set to his jaw, a self-righteous attitude,  and absolutely no goddamned sense of self-preservation. Perfectly polite and respectful, until something set him off and he was suddenly a scrappy little spitfire. Who could be knocked over by a strong breeze. Or hell, a mild breeze if it took him by surprise.  
   
That day, they'd been hanging out in front of the building. Steve was helping Eva, a little neighbor girl a few years younger, with her 'gardening' project. There was a tiny scrap of weed-tangled ground in front of her building, and she was determined to turn it into something special. Bucky was just sitting on the steps, pretending to work on his homework while he instead just watched Steve.  
   
Steve, who had his own homework to be doing or could have been drawing in that notebook that he hardly ever let go of, but instead seemed to be happy playing in the dirt with an 8 year old just because it made her smile.  
   
Eva and Steve hadn't done a whole lot yet, not that they actually had anything to plant. But they'd managed to collect a nice pile of weeds between the two of them. And then her brother Jacob and one of his friends had wandered up, both 12 years old and springing up in the midst of growth spurts.  
   
And Steve was right, the littering hadn't been the real issue. Jacob had been teasing and mocking Eva's efforts, and then had thrown down his soda can in the garden, splattering it on Eva's shoes. That had been her limit and as she burst into tears, Bucky remembered only thinking something about how she needed to grow some thicker skin. The guy was her brother, she'd have to deal with him for a few more years at least, unless he was stupid enough to get himself sent to juvie.  
   
And then little Stevie, that tiny kid full of yes ma'ams and no sirs, who got sick too often and who wheezed with too much exercise, had gotten up in Jacob's face, demanding he pick up the can and apologize. And all Bucky could remember thinking was, _you gotta be kidding me. ___  
  
By the time Steve had thrown the first punch - and seemed like that's how it went half the time - Bucky had sprang to his feet, scattering his homework on the steps. Steve was his foster brother, and sure it wasn't like they were best buds, but he had to look out for him, right? The kid would probably break into a million pieces the first time he got hit.  
   
And when Steve had been shoved against the wall of the building by Jacob while his friend reeled back and Eva wailed beside them, Bucky had charged in. The boys were bigger than both of them, but that was alright. Those were odds he could live with.  
   
And those were odds he had to live with pretty damn frequently from that point on, as Steve never seemed to think about how likely he was to get his head smashed in before starting something. And Bucky found himself, reluctantly at first and later with an almost overwhelming sense of protectiveness, giving the punk some much needed back up. And for the next five years, it was never just Bucky. It was Bucky-and-Steve.  
   
He hadn't realized how much it would hurt to be just Bucky again.  
   
"And anyway, it's kind of hard to find guys twice my size these days, littering or not," Steve had a broad grin on his face, and Bucky couldn't restrain the laugh that burst out of him at that expression.  
   
"I don't know, you tried the zoo? We could probably find you a polar bear or gorilla to fight." Bucky was feeling a lightness he hadn't felt in a damn long time. Goddamn Steve. It was really him, even if there were a few more layers than there used to be. "What the hell happened to you, by the way? You find some kind of super growth hormone out in Podunk, New York?"  
   
"I just finally hit a growth spurt, I guess. Maybe all the fresh air kick started it, who knows? But my health had already been getting better. Hadn't even had an asthma attack for a couple years before then. Haven't had any since, in fact." Bucky could remember those, back when Steve had first moved in. Scared him more than he was willing to admit at the time, might have scared him more than they scared Steve. But he was right, those had tapered off after a time. He had seemed to be getting healthier as they grew, even if Steve hadn't done much growing _up ___at that point.  
   
"How about you? Still charming every girl who looks at you twice?" Steve had a teasing slant to his mouth with that question, but Bucky felt his shoulder hunch in defensively.  
   
"Yeah, that's uh, that's not really my thing anymore." He'd been an ass as a teenager, but a charming ass. Whether it was convincing girls his own age to go out with him, or sweet talking store clerks and old ladies, he'd had a bit of a reputation. But, well, things change.  
   
 He purposefully didn't look at Steve, focusing his stare on the now mostly empty bottle of beer he was holding.  
   
"Yeah, I guess we've both probably grown up a lot."  
   
That drew Bucky's gaze back to Steve, surprised at the wistful, almost melancholy tone the other man had spoken in. Steve was looking down at the scratched up table, and for a few moments it was quiet, as neither of them seemed to know what to say.  
   
Steve's eyes wandered across the table, landing on the metal arm. Neither of them had bothered to change out of their work clothes, although they'd thrown their jackets over their chairs and Bucky had taken off his gloves. He could manage handling delicate things with the metal hand, but all it took was a moment of nerves for him to clench his grip a little too tightly. Bucky had broken more than things than he'd care to admit in moments of inattention. And so he just let that arm rest there on the table, holding his beer with his right hand instead of embarrassing himself by shattering a bottle in front of Steve.  
   
Bucky felt his gut clench, as he tried to figure out what to say about the arm. He'd told Steve they could talk later, but it was later and he didn't know what to say. He didn't know how much Steve would want to know, how much he wanted to say, how much he even _could ___say.  
   
But then, Steve surprised him.  
   
"He shouldn't have said that earlier." Steve was still looking at the arm, an unhappy set to his shoulders and a twist to his lips that looked a bit like shame, "Buck, I'm sorry I didn't say anything."  
   
Bucky set the bottle on the table, reaching up to rub at his forehead with his right hand, and pushed some strands of hair out of his face. He always kept his hair pulled back while working, but he'd let it down once he was home and it was starting to get to the point where he needed to get it cut.  That was why Steve had been angry, because of what Pierce had said about him?  
   
"Why? Pierce was right," Bucky studied the metal arm, only the hand visible, protruding from the sleeve of his shirt. "I don't know where I'd be without this thing."  
   
Bucky really didn't like to think about it. The only kind of skills he'd ever had, the only kind of profession he could see himself in, had been set by his military training. He was a soldier and had intended to be one for a long damn time. He'd never really thought about the future, except some vague idea of one day retiring when he'd reached the right age.  
   
When he'd woken up, _after ___, the drugs in his system had made him feel numb, slow. But when he'd finally, painfully, realized what he was missing, he'd panicked and damn near gave the medic a heart attack. A one-armed soldier with no family, no marketable skills without the use of both hands, no kind of academic prowess or special smarts, and a shit load of problems to work through. Yeah, Bucky hadn't liked his chances much.  
   
"You don't need to be fixed," Steve's voice was sharp, catching his attention.  
   
Bucky stared at Steve, feeling his throat inexplicably tighten up. Steve's jaw had a stubborn set to it, a dark scowl on his face. He'd put down the bottle, planting both hands flat against the table and leaning forward with the full force of his gaze staring Bucky down.  
   
"I'm glad the arm helps you, that you have it. But you don't need to be remade, or made into something 'better'."  
   
Steve seemed determined to convince him through sheer strength of conviction, saying those words as if he didn't have a doubt in the world and was offended anyone might ever think it. As if he was offended by Bucky's implied agreement with Pierce. Steve's expression held an edge of anger, and Bucky had the feeling that Steve was almost daring him to try arguing.  
   
Not that he could have. His throat was still trapping any sound that might have tried to come out, and for once there was no swirl of words in his head. Instead it was just stunned quiet, even that little watchful alarm in his head shocked into silence. And Steve just kept staring him down stubbornly, waiting for either agreement or argument.  
   
And slowly, Bucky's brain started to work again. _Maybe that old protectiveness wasn't as one-sided as I thought. ___  
  
There was something building in the silence between them, but this time the quality of it was different, not uncomfortable and pained like this morning. But whatever was building didn't get a chance to grow further, shattering apart as they heard a door open elsewhere in the apartment.  
   
Oh fuck.  
   
Bucky closed his eyes for a brief moment before standing, and noticed that Steve had already sprang to his feet in alarm. Rather than say anything, he just reached out and briefly touched Steve's shoulder as he passed. He only caught a glimpse of some unfamiliar expression on Steve's face, too complicated for him to really understand, before the other man followed him out of the room.  
   
"Had a good reunion?"  
   
Brock Rumlow stood just inside the apartment, door still open behind him. Bucky found himself regretting, for what felt like the millionth time, that he'd ever given the guy a key.  
   
"Rumlow?" Steve's voice a mixture of shocked and wary, and Bucky chanced a look over at him. The guy was staring at Rumlow, but had flicked his gaze over to Bucky in his confusion. "Do you live here?"  
   
Rumlow scoffed, a sharp shake of his head as he scanned the living room with a scornful look, "I need to talk to Barnes."  
   
"And you just barge in?" Steve's temper had sparked, whatever it was that had been building in the kitchen turned into hostility. And judging from the glare Rumlow gave him in response, it was met by plenty of hostility in turn.  
   
"You couldn't have called?" Bucky interrupted, trying to keep the situation from getting any more tense. He'd been half expecting Rumlow to show up at some point tonight, but this was a hell of a lot earlier than he would have thought.  
   
The only response he got, however, was a stubborn curl of the lips, "You'd have to answer your goddamn phone for that."  
   
Just fucking perfect.  
   
So much for defusing the situation. Steve had moved to stand beside him, and Bucky could just feel the unhappy tension radiating off the guy as he tried to figure out what was going on.  
   
"Steve," Bucky raised his hand to rub at his face, feeling that ache in his head already starting to grow again, "Look, I'll see you in the morning."  
   
The look Steve gave him was complex, but the main emotions that stood out to Bucky made his throat tighten again for just a moment. Confusion, but with a bit of anger and hurt. But despite that, he just studied Bucky as if trying to figure out whether he actually wanted him to leave.  
   
Bucky just nodded at him, hoping that would be enough for the guy. He had a feeling that if he had the two of them in his apartment for much longer, it was going to devolve to the point where Steve really would get fired. He could handle Rumlow himself, regardless of how pissed off the taller man was.  
   
He had a sudden inane thought pop into his head, wondering why the fuck he was suddenly surrounded by giants. It wasn't like he was short, but he sure felt that way in a room with these two.  
   
"Alright. Good night, Buck," Steve moved towards the door, pausing for a moment to pick up the bag he'd set down there earlier, and directed a flinty stare at the man beside the door, "Rumlow."  
   
"Rogers."  
   
And then he shut the door behind himself, leaving with only one last glance at Bucky, forehead knit up and a frown on his face.  
   
"You couldn't have waited just one more fucking hour?" Bucky scowled, fishing his phone out of his pocket to check it for messages. And found nothing. No goddamn missed calls, no fucking text messages. So he just turned his gaze back towards Rumlow, raised the phone and pointed it at him.  
   
"Like you would have answered."  
   
Bucky felt a guilty flash in his stomach. He probably wouldn't have answered, not when Steve was there. "So you just come right in? You don’t think I'll answer my damn phone, so you just walk right in?"  
   
He only realized he's blocked Rumlow's access to the rest of the apartment when the guy moved forward, and Bucky had to step back against the wall to let him pass by without touching. His pulse is racing, and he feels almost like he's been infected with that aggression and hostility Steve had left with.  
   
"You've never complained before," Rumlow's smirking at him, something smug in his voice and dark in his eyes.  
   
Bucky felt a twist in his belly, some mix too tangled to fully draw out. This was his home, a place for him to let down his guard and just relax. Rumlow was a part of that, at times. But lately, more often than not, he was just another thing to stress over.  
   
Rumlow's too close, only inches away and still with that smug look on his face. He didn't say anything further, just allowed his eyes to drift down between them. Bucky felt a surge of incredulity rear up beside his anger, and tried to ignore that responding stir of interest in his gut. "You really think I'm the goddamn mood?"  
   
He got a bark of laughter in response, Rumlow's smirk turning into something almost feral, "Hell yes. I know you, Barnes. Anything that gets your temper up…"  
   
The other man had let himself trail off, not needing to finish his sentence to make the meaning clear.  
   
Bucky felt a scowl break out on his face and planted his flesh hand against Rumlow's chest.  The guy had gotten even fucking closer, and he could feel his own heart pounding away in his chest. He felt on the verge of something, some violence or-  
   
Steve's hurt expression flashed into his mind.  
   
And Bucky gave a short, firm push, putting more space between them, before he turned and headed for the kitchen. After only a moment, he heard steps following behind him. He needed another goddamn beer if he was going to keep it together tonight.  
   
"You wanted to talk? Then let's fucking talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow seized that final scene and took it in a slightly different direction than I'd originally intended.
> 
> Trigger warnings for ableist language and aggressive advances. (I seriously don't know how else to describe it. I think those two might be worthy of a trigger warning all by themselves)
> 
> Coming up next: the plot starts to emerge from its shell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little interlude from Steve's perspective, that introduces the actual plot and some more characters.

After the door was shut behind him, Steve didn't stop. He just marched down the hall and started down the stairwell, his blood pumping fast enough it almost felt like he was sprinting up those stairs instead of climbing down. He was still running the last few minutes through his head, trying to sort out the shift from feeling like he was reforging a friendship with Bucky, to feeling unwelcome in the guy's home.  
   
And trying to work through his sudden, seething dislike of Brock Rumlow, and the sinking feeling in his stomach that he might have just made everything much more difficult.  
   
His phone vibrated once in his pocket, a quiet reminder.  
   
As Steve broke out into the chill, he reached up as if scratching at his ear, casually slipping in a small ear piece as he did so. It had been dark outside for several hours now, but there were always people on the streets. Mindful of potential watchers, he lowered his head and shoved his hands in his pockets as if cold.  
   
Not that he really had to fake it. His jacket was still slung over a chair in Bucky's kitchen.  
   
Quietly, his lips barely moving, Steve murmured, "I know what you're thinking."  
   
"Really, Agent Rogers?" The voice of Phil Coulson in his ear was perfectly bland and polite, with just an edge of ice, "Then you know I'm currently questioning your judgment for choosing to take out your ear piece in the middle of an op."  
   
"The mic was still on," Steve knew that was a weak defense even as he offered it up. But he just couldn't handle someone in his ear when he was having that talk with Bucky. It'd been uncomfortable enough that morning in the car, with so much he wanted to say and then not, because of the constant reminder of what he was actually there for. So given the chance to talk to Bucky without that? Yeah, he'd take it.  
   
But even still, he knew that if he'd turned off that mic and cut out his handler entirely, he wouldn't have had a chance of staying in this op. As it was, he knew he was already on shaky ground.  
   
"Yes, it was. Which is how I know just how close you came to derailing the entire operation. Do I need to remind you that if you get fired, it will be months before we get another chance like this?"  
   
 Steve winced, passing it off as a cough as he passed by another pedestrian. He's saved from having to come up with a response, however, as he spotted the sign ahead of him. Instead, he just quickly murmured, "Entering the subway."  
   
Too much risk of being overheard for him to continue talking freely there, with echoes and people who always stand too close. Steve was met with a tired sigh from his handler, "Just get back here for debrief. We need to re-evaluate your role in this operation."  
   
An in-person debrief now was not a good sign. Maybe he really was getting pulled out.  
   
The hour was late enough that the deep rush hour crowds had dissipated, but New York's subways were never completely empty. His ear piece had gone quiet, leaving Steve to churn in his own guilt as he made his way down to the platform.  
   
He'd known it was a bad idea from the start. This whole mission was precarious enough, especially after factoring in running into someone he actually knew, that he should never have cut off communication. Steve had put the mission at risk, and his hostile reaction to Rumlow's arrival had to make him admit that his emotions were running wild. This was too important to throw into jeopardy like that.  
   
SHIELD had suspicions about Pierce Industries for some time now, and had been slowly working agents into the company. They had enough evidence, hints and whispers, fallen victims and strange objects left behind in the midst of violence, to suggest that Alexander Pierce and his company had a hand in some very dangerous projects worldwide. But they lacked anything concrete.  
   
All official operations seemed squeaky clean, and nothing on the books could be tied to what SHIELD had collected. Pierce Industries openly pursued and researched some very controversial technology, but was also very careful to appear just on the right side of the law.  
   
The main confounding factor, even after having agents positioned inside Pierce Industries, even after getting one agent close to Pierce himself, was how often the CEO went off the grid while overseas. For many of Pierce's trips, they had only the flight schedules for when he entered or left a country. They didn't know who he visited or where he went, and significant chunks of time went unaccounted for. He brought with him no assistants or staff, asides from his ever-present security detail.  
   
While there were overseas labs where testing was done officially, SHIELD had gotten just enough intel to suggest there were labs off the books as well, places where the testing and experimentation were done without regard to anything as constraining as law or ethics.  
   
They had attempted to plant bugs in the office, but those had been discovered with an ease and quickness that spooked their agents. While those initial bugs had been blamed on competitors attempting industrial espionage, SHIELD had decided to not risk their agents, and focused instead on low-tech surveillance. They still had carte blanche to plant bugs in other locations, but the office and Alexander Pierce himself were too risky.  
   
All of this, of course, just made the case stronger that Alexander Pierce had something to hide. He was too skilled and careful of spies to be the up-front and honest businessman he presented himself as.  
   
So when the opportunity had arisen to get an agent into Pierce's security detail, they had snatched it up without pause.  
   
But Steve felt like the entire thing had gone sideways the moment he walked out of the elevator and came face to face with Bucky. He had changed, but was still immediately recognizable. More closed off and worn down with age, but still the same guy. He'd spent the better part of the day in a mix of something almost like giddiness, combined anxiety over how of all the places he could have run into Bucky, he found him in the middle of an op, working for Alexander Pierce.  
   
He desperately wanted to shove it down and ignore it. But there was a bitter taste in Steve's mouth at the thought of what it might mean that Bucky was in Pierce's personal security detail. They'd gone into this with the awareness that Pierce's security detail was likely complicit in his activities, with their constant close contact. Just because a childhood friend was now a part of that didn't change anything.  
   
Even so, there was an insistent little voice in the back of his head that just refused to believe it. Some of the experiments SHIELD agents had uncovered had been horrific, and the Bucky Barnes that he had known was a good man, and a loyal one. Steve just had to hope that Bucky hadn't given his loyalty to a man like Pierce.  
   
The train pulled up to his platform, sending a draft of cool air and reminding him once again of his lack of a jacket. Steve joined the trickle of people entering the car, moving over to stand holding onto one of the metal poles and adjusting the shoulders strap of his bag to make it sit more comfortably. He didn't have far to go, so there was no point in sitting down.  
   
It seemed fitting that both he and Bucky had returned to Brooklyn. And even though he was on his way to a dummy apartment instead of his real place, it nagged at him to realize how close they'd been living, both of them having returned to the borough they grew up in. Then again Steve spent very little time actually at home, so it wasn't like they'd had a whole lot of opportunities to run into each other.  
   
As the doors slid shut, he flicked his eyes over the other late evening riders in the half-full train.  
   
_Huh ___. Partway down the car from him, half hidden behind a tall woman holding groceries, was a familiar figure. Steve shifted as if weary and uncomfortable from a day of work, adjusting his position to get a slightly better look. Yes, definitely the same man that had been on the other side of the road when he'd left Bucky's place.  
   
_Wonder if it's Pierce who set him on me, or Rumlow ___.  
   
Steve was confident that he'd passed Pierce's little test earlier that day, but fully expected there would be more to come. Of course, it could also just be a civilian who happened to be going the same direction as him. Sometimes doing the work he did, you found yourself seeing shadows and spies where there were none.  
   
He still occasionally got teased by his coworkers about the time he'd terrified a lost tourist in Rome, when he'd been convinced the man was following him and decided to take action. There were some things you never knew about being a spy until you were one, regardless of how many spy thrillers you'd read. He suspected none of those authors had ever knowingly met a spy, as they all seemed to feature god-like suave men, who never doubted themselves or their abilities. Steve had yet to come across a spy novel that featured an anxious young agent, paranoid and stumbling through his first mission, constantly convinced he'd been found out.  
   
Steve had the feeling that if his coworkers ever found his novel collection, they'd never let him forget it. Which was why he kept them shoved behind others in his shelves, hoping everyone would be deterred by the art books they sat hidden behind.  
   
Casually, Steve slipped off the train one stop early. He made his way through the small crowd with head down, feigning tiredness, before stopping and blinking at the street in front of him.  
   
"Aw, geez," He sighed, as if having not realized he'd gotten off at the wrong stop until he'd made it all the way out of the station. And then he began trudging his way the correct direction, just deciding to walk the extra distance.  
   
_Got you ___. He caught sight of the man he'd noticed on the train, some distance behind him, as he turned down a street. Looks like he wasn't jumping at shadows this time. Steve walked a ways, considering how best to handle the situation.  
   
"Looks like you've picked up a tail, Cap," A new voice spoke up in his ear, and Steve felt a surge of exasperation that he couldn't correct the nickname at the moment. "How do you wanna play this?"  
   
"Stand down Agent Barton. They already know this address, there's no point in drawing suspicion," Coulson had a point there. This was the address they had officially created for Steven Grant Rogers, former US army and current private security consultant. It was on all the paperwork.  
   
Steve turned down his street, knowing that even if he lost his tail now, chances were the man would show up anyway. The only hitch was that he had someone waiting in the apartment that they didn't want seen.  
   
"Agent Rogers, behave normally. I'll have Barton create a distraction when needed."  
   
Fiddling in his pocket for his keys, Steve trotted up the steps of the unassuming brownstone, and then to the second floor apartment. And upon entering, he immediately spotted Phil Coulson standing in the hallway that led to the bedroom, out of sight of any windows. He locked the door, but they both remained silent, waiting.  
   
With a crackle from the ear piece, Barton said, "Your tail's taken position across the street in the alleyway next to the laundromat. Only clear sight line from there is the living room windows. Looks like he's just tracking your movements."  
   
Taking that as the cue, Steve flipped on the lights and moved towards the kitchen. There was a small window in there, but it only looked out on the an alley and building next door. Still, Coulson remained at his place in the hallway until Steve had drawn the blinds.  
   
Setting his bag on the floor next to the table, Steve turned and leaned against the counter, watching his handler. Coulson wouldn't have looked out of place in almost any Manhattan office, easily fitting in among accountants and lawyers. No one really looked at Phil Coulson as a threat, with his standard suits and blandly polite smile. Probably a part of why he was so good at his job, even if he didn't spend as much time in the field these days.  
   
"Report."  
   
Looks like they were starting with business, then.  
   
"Pierce's activities weren't anything special today. Meetings at different offices, and there was talk about how security at the gala tomorrow night will be handled. The gala's worth keeping an eye on. Most of Pierce's detail will be there, myself included, which makes trying to get into his files less risky,"  Their other inside agent had plenty of access to Pierce's office, but was constrained by the security measures. There was always someone from the personal detail on watch at the office, but tomorrow night, most attention would be focused on Pierce and not his empty office.  
   
"I'm confident I passed Pierce's test today. He seemed to approve of my answers. And I haven't seen anything suspicious from his detail or staff yet," Steve hesitated for a moment, crossing his arms across his chest before finishing, "Gaining the trust of his security chief seems unlikely."  
   
Coulson's response was a just weary shake of his head, "At this point, that goes without saying. If you had kept your ear piece in, we would have alerted you that Rumlow was on his way up. You could have moderated your temper more."  
   
"To be frank, I think he already didn't like me," Steve fixed his gaze at the painting on the wall, some factory produced painting of a generic countryside scene. He didn't know what SHIELD operative had decorated the place, but he wasn't a fan of their taste in art.  
   
Thinking about this morning, Steve had been surprised at the reception he'd gotten. When he'd interviewed, Rumlow had seemed professional. Maybe not particularly friendly, but he at least hadn't seemed hostile. Somehow, running into Bucky this morning had set him off on the wrong foot with Rumlow, and after tonight Steve didn't think he had much chance of getting back on track.  
   
The original plan had been to befriend the security chief, and work his way into his and Pierce's good graces. While there was a chance that the rest of the security detail was unaware of the full extent of Pierce's activities, it seemed impossible that his head of security was in the dark.  
   
"On that note, I wanted to apologize," Steve flicked his eyes back to Coulson in surprise at hearing that. He was expecting to get yelled at, threatened with being pulled from the mission, not an apology. "Our analysts should have found your connection to James Barnes before putting you in there. You shouldn't have been surprised like that."  
   
The shorter man paused for a moment, steel in his voice as he continued, "However, you need to remember that you have not seen Barnes since you were children, and he is now working for a man under SHIELD investigation. This is not just your childhood friend, but someone providing security for a criminal, who may well be aware of or involved in illegal activities himself."  
   
Steve clenched his jaw, stubbornly ignoring the little reminder of what he'd been thinking himself just a short while ago, "Bucky's not involved. At least not knowingly."  
   
Coulson gave him a hard look, not pleased with that answer. "If it wouldn't take so long to get her alibi set up with the contacts and credentials she needs, I'd pull you out of this right now and get Agent Morse in there."  
   
From what Steve gathered, SHIELD had initially intended to send in another agent with a completely new identity. But when a member of Pierce's security detail had been unexpectedly injured in an accident just a week before one of Pierce's overseas trips, they realized the opportunity they had. There been no time for Agent Bobbi Morse to get everything in place, as she was still in the process of establishing her cover story.  
   
Instead, SHIELD decided to make use of an agent with all the necessary contacts and resources already in place. Steve had an old pal from his army days, who had turned out to be an acquaintance of Brock Rumlow.  
   
SHIELD had created a suitably believable resume for Steve for the past few years, and he'd just had to reach out to that old friend and mention he was looking for security work. The rest had gone by quickly, being recommended to Rumlow for the opening and getting an interview in just the amount of time it took for Pierce Industries to run a check on him.

Having an agent essentially undercover as himself wasn't a preferred tactic for SHIELD, but at least it wasn't like he had much to lose if his real identity got burned. He wasn't even officially a part of SHIELD under his real name. As far as the official record was concerned, Steve Rogers had been honorably discharged from the army several years before, and hadn't been involved with any government or military organization since then.  
   
The reality was that SHIELD had recruited him, turning him from Captain Steven Grant Rogers into an agent, after a mission in the Middle East had gone pear-shaped and he'd had to assist a couple of theirs. He still kept in touch with Peggy, although they hadn't had many opportunities to work together since then.  
   
"Can I assume you didn't plant any bugs in Barnes' apartment either?" The look Coulson gave Steve made his disappointment clear, and Steve felt himself flush with embarrassment. He wasn't used to being the screw up or getting those looks from a man he respected.  
   
Coulson shook his head, his expression softening slightly, "I know this mission has already started to go off the rails. But you need to remember to keep some distance between you and Barnes."  
   
"However, we may be able to use this," Steve felt an unhappy pang in his chest at hearing that, but just listened as Coulson continued speaking, "Barnes has been part of that detail for several years and has Pierce's trust. It may not be as effective as our original plan, but could still be the in that you need."  
   
He lowered his head, but knew this might well be the only way to stay on this mission. If his handler thought he was getting too involved, he'd pull him out and SHIELD would just have to wait for their next opportunity. Steve had the feeling he was already dangerously close to that point.  
   
"And Steve," Coulson gentled his tone, cooling that undercurrent of anger that had colored the rest of their conversation, "If Barnes really isn't involved, this may be the best thing for him. If he's the man you think he is, then it seems unlikely he would want to continue freely supporting Pierce."  
   
The entire situation sat wrong in his chest, but Steve couldn't deny that the Bucky he'd known would have wanted to stop Pierce if he really knew what he was up to. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath to steady himself, before giving a sharp nod.  
   
"Good," Coulson straightened up, his voice returning to its prior calm and steady tone as he addressed their backup through the ear piece, "Barton, what's the situation with our watcher?"  
   
"Looks bored. And cold. He hasn't moved from the alley, but he's not being as attentive as he could. Ready for your diversion, boss?"  
   
Barton's voice had a playful note towards the end, and the corners of Coulson's mouth turned up into a small smile, "Nothing too ostentatious, please."  
   
"You take all the fun out of life. And can I just say Cap, how glad I am to not be the one getting chewed out this time?"  
   
Steve let out a sigh of his own at that, shaking his head at Coulson's amused expression before the other man slipped back into the hallway and out of the apartment, "I'm not army anymore, Clint. You can stop calling me that any day now."  
   
"Whatever you say, Rogers." If Steve had learned anything from working with Clint Barton, it was not to expect the nickname to go away anytime soon, regardless of how many times the other man agreed to stop. Having been discharged, Steve had no right to his old rank. But that had never stopped Barton from calling him by it, and the more Steve argued, the more he seemed to enjoy it.  
   
Steve stayed in his kitchen a few moments longer, before wandering out to the living room as he heard an alarm start going off across the street. He peered out the window, and could make out that the alarm seemed to be coming from a pawn shop, which happened to be separated from the laundromat by a narrow alleyway. An alleyway that, as he watched, he could see a familiar shape slink out of like a skittish cat.  
   
A grin broke out on his face, as the man faltered and seemed confused about what to do before hurrying down the street at the sound of a distant and probably unrelated siren.  
   
Shortly after the watcher had scurried out of sight, the alarm cut out, and a thought suddenly occurred to Steve, "Did you actually break in?"  
   
"Just a conveniently malfunctioning alarm. I'd hate to be the guy getting that call from his alarm company right about now, but no damage done," Barton's voice shifted to something wry and amused, "I thought about just breaking a window. Then I pictured that look you're so good at, and knew you'd guilt me into paying for it." 

Steve studied the buildings across the street, not spotting Barton anywhere but knowing he was just out of sight, "I don't have a look."  
   
"You're kidding, right? You've got the _best ___disappointed look. It's like, 'dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow-'"  
   
_What?_ Steve scrunched up his forehead for a moment, baffled, as Coulson's voice cut in to interrupt in a mild tone, "Barton, stop quoting movies and get back to work."  
   
"Yes sir," The other man's playful tone shifted to something more serious as he continued, "Go get some sleep, Cap. I've got your back tonight."  
   
Steve gave one last glance out the window before turning away. Tomorrow was going to be a very long day, and he needed to be as prepared and well rested as he could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head canon, Hawkeye likes Disney movies. A lot. One year for a Halloween party, he went as the Disney version of Robin Hood, complete with ears and tail.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is turning out to be updated twice a week instead of once a week like I'd initially planned. Oops?

Watching the glitzy ballroom filled with dresses and suits worth thousands and jewelry he was sure was worth even more, Steve felt relieved that he had yet to have a mission that would require him to fit in and schmooze with this sort of crowd. He felt out of place enough, and all he had to do was keep watch and look intimidating. 

He was stationed a short distance from Pierce, just far enough for people to feel comfortable approaching the businessman, but still close enough to stop any threats. There were other members of the detail scattered at various distances from the older man, watching the crowd as much as they watched Pierce. 

It was unlikely there would be any incidents at the charity gala Pierce was attending as part of his general efforts to build good will in the city, but Steve had been briefed on what the primary concerns were. While there was always the general caution when he attended events such as this, there had been a couple of prominent detractors that they needed to keep an eye out for. On the off chance that those protesters managed to get past the gala security, they needed to keep them from reaching Pierce and forcing a loud, public confrontation. 

Steve wasn't entirely sure what sort of charity this event was supporting, and suspected that for most here, it didn't really matter. Money would be donated to this cause or that, but most here seemed more interested in networking than worrying about whatever cause had drawn them there. 

Doing another visual sweep of the room from his position, Steve noted no obvious threats among its wealthy patrons. Well, no obvious threats unless you counted one tipsy elderly woman getting a little handsy with Pierce. At least he didn't have to handle those sorts of issues. Instead, he watched as Bucky stepped forward from his position just slightly behind Pierce, and redirected her away from him. 

Bucky's job tonight wasn't one he felt a special yearning for, but at least it would have stationed him close enough to listen in on conversations. You never knew what sort of intel you could gain from events like this, where targets often had their guard down. And SHIELD had noted several names of interest on the guest list, thought it worth keeping an eye on their interactions with Pierce. 

Pierce moved to talk to couple that Steve vaguely recognized but couldn't place, and Bucky stayed at a set point several steps behind the older man. He almost seemed to be tied to Pierce by an invisible tether as he kept his position perfectly, regardless of where or when they moved. 

The middle-aged couple seemed to be having a great talk with Pierce, judging from the smiles and occasional bit of laughter that drifted over to him. As he watched though, he noticed that at several points that they each made an attempt at subtly peeking at Bucky, or rather, his exposed metal hand. He had to say attempt, as the two were clearly not good at subterfuge. It occurred to Steve that this could be why Pierce had selected Bucky for his personal bodyguard this evening night. 

When they'd been about to enter the gala, Pierce had ordered Bucky to remove his ever-present gloves. Steve couldn't help but wonder what his friend thought of that or how he felt, for all that he'd simply silently complied and slipped them into his suit pocket. 

While Steve had been able to think of numerous reasons why Pierce would want his bodyguard to be visibly sporting one of his prosthetics, there was one in particular that now seemed most likely to him. The new prosthetics that Pierce Industries produced had been generating protest and outrage, but also curiosity. The upper echelons of New York society were fascinated to see just what it was that had been stirring public debate, and Pierce was boldly using that as a way to talk up his business and ideology. 

Moreover, if the way some glances were turning speculative was a good indicator, some of the socialites and ultra-rich among the crowd were seeing the potential benefits of a bodyguard with a built in weapon. After all, there were some venues in which a guard wasn't permitted to be armed with standard weapons. But an inhumanly strong metal arm, a weapon that was literally attached? Regulations hadn't yet caught up with the technology to officially label them as weapons, allowing them to be carried into places where guns were not permitted. 

And if Pierce's money and political influence carried the weight he thought they did, then they wouldn't ever be labeled as weapons. 

Steve darted his eyes at Bucky's face when he and Pierce finally turned away from that couple, but all he could see was a hard, blank expression. He'd seen boulders with more emotion in them than Bucky's face displayed right then. But his shoulders were set at a stiff angle that hinted at discomfort and stress. 

Steve felt a surge of dislike for Pierce. Even if the man turned out to be innocent of SHIELD's suspicions, however unlikely that seemed, it wouldn't change his dislike of someone who would show off Bucky like he was just one of his company's products instead of a person. 

Turning his eyes on the crowd, he caught a brief glimpse of Rumlow, stationed near the entrance. Steve made a mental note to ask later whether the security head was always irritable, or if it was a new behavior. Whatever Rumlow had wanted to talk to Bucky about last night, it didn't seem to have improved his mood at all today. He'd been professional, but there had been a definite chill whenever he interacted with Steve. 

He hadn't had many opportunities to talk to Bucky today, and Steve wasn't sure where he stood with him at the moment. Bucky had been quiet and focused on work, and Steve had to admit to himself that he may not be able to read this version of his old friend as well as he could when they were kids. Bucky had closed himself up more over the years, less free with his emotions and words, and Steve was left feeling like he was trying to see his friend through a deep fog. He was there and visible in pieces, but the shifting of fog exposed one part only to cover another. 

Steve sharpened his attention at the sight of an older blonde woman making her way over to Pierce. This was a face he definitely recognized.  A German national and head of a company that handled international real estate holdings, Baroness Armina Dietrich had homes in several cities, New York included. She was on the guest list for this event, although there had been no guarantee she would actually attend. 

What intrigued SHIELD about her, was her connection to Alexander Pierce. She did not officially do any business with Pierce Industries, but despite that, the two had previously had several meetings. It seemed likely that either they were planning to do business in the future, or they had already done business together, off the books. 

He needed to get closer. 

Noting the locations of the other security personnel, Steve began a slow process of incrementally moving closer to Pierce while trying to make it appear an organic response to the shifting of the crowd. The last thing he needed was to look like he was trying to eavesdrop on Pierce. He tried to ignore his impatience, as another brief glance showed him that Dietrich and Pierce had already begun talking. The music in the background was just enough, combined with the chatter surrounding him, to allow only the occasional word to drift over. 

Steve inched around a small table, feigning some interest in the food on offering. At least if anyone spotted him now, they'd probably think him just a very hungry guard, hoping to sneak a bite while on duty. Perhaps not the best view of his work ethic, but infinitely preferable to being thought a spy. 

And he actually was kind of hungry. Maybe he should grab one of those little sandwiches with the toothpicks stuck in them. Just for his cover, of course. 

"Rogers, you've fallen out of position," A voice cut in on Steve's ear piece, and he felt a stab of frustration. Turning his gaze, he caught sight of one of the other security personnel, Jack Rollins, looking back at him. Thankfully, as he's giving the man a nod of acknowledgment, there's a lull in the music. 

"You'll let me know what you think of Bijeljina, of course." 

"Certainly, Baroness. It was a pleasure seeing you again." 

Steve moved back to his original position, running that term through his head. Bijeljina. Was it a person or a place? He didn't recognize it. 

"I hope you got something useful out of getting noticed like that," a woman's voice came in on his ear piece, "Because I'm not getting anything here." 

Steve had worked with Natasha Romanova many times before, and could read the frustration in her voice for all that her tone was mild. She'd been sent in earlier and had managed to position herself as an administrative aid in Pierce's office, but had been running into roadblocks in gathering intel. After two months of this, she had good reason to be frustrated. 

SHIELD had linked into the ear pieces that Pierce's security were wearing, and had made their own modifications to Steve's. His team could listen in, and the mic Steve wore meant he could speak to them directly, if need be. While the mic did allow them to listen in on his direct surroundings, he doubted they'd heard the fragment of conversation, with all the ambient noise surrounding him. And in this setting, directly speaking to them held too much potential of being noticed. 

So Steve settled back to his watch, knowing he'd have to wait before relaying to them what he'd heard. 

"There's nothing?" Coulson didn't sound particularly happy. 

"Well, I've got his flight plan in and out of Belgrade, but that's not anything special since I'm the one who arranged it. Only new information here is an itinerary for his visit to the satellite office and the lab tour. It leaves a good chunk of time unaccounted for." 

It was disheartening to hear that even getting into Pierce's office hadn't helped their lack of information. Natasha had come up with useful intel on Pierce's movements in her time there, particularly concerning off-the-books meetings such as the ones he'd had with Baroness Dietrich, but his overseas activities were still a blank. 

"Oh, hello there," An intrigued tone entered Natasha's voice, "This might be something. Looks like Pierce trusts in locks more than computers. I found a folder in his desk that's in some sort of code. There's several pages in here. Sending you photos now." 

"Good work. I'll have the analysts go over them." 

It was only day two of his cover, and Steve already was wishing he had another role in this mission. He felt useless, hearing only one potentially useful, potential meaningless word, while he stood there guarding their target. It gave him a new appreciation for Natasha, with two months of this under her belt and no complaints. 

Steve hadn't had a whole lot of experience with long-term undercover missions yet, and he was faced with the reality that he might just not have the patience for them. 

Although he had to admit even if just to himself, as he caught sight of Bucky through the crowd again, that he probably would have been jealous if Clint had been in this role instead. Getting to spend time with Bucky while he was the one playing back up? Not even having the opportunity to talk to Bucky, meet him again, without spoiling the op? 

No. He could handle his impatience for this. 

\---- 

After a night that didn't want to end, Steve was finally back at the office. They had dropped Pierce off at his house after the gala, and switched out with the overnight team, before driving the cars back to the office parking garage. 

He'd been in the same car as Bucky on the way back, but it had been quiet between them. Neither of them had the energy to manage a conversation. Bucky had seemed worn down and on edge from the gala, and all Steve really wanted to do was go home and pass out for several hours. He knew that wasn't in the books however, as he still needed to check in. 

When they'd pulled up and Bucky had handed him the keys to return to the security desk, Steve had just nodded and told him to get some rest. It had been tiring enough to be on alert in that crowd, he could imagine how much worse it would be to feel like you were on display on top of that. 

Steve had dropped the keys for the follow car off with the guard at the security desk and was making his way out through the atrium when he caught sight of Rumlow and Bucky. Apparently, Bucky hadn't slipped out and gone home already like he would have thought. 

The two men were on the other side of the room, standing in the narrow hallway that led to the parking garage. They were standing close together and speaking quietly enough that he couldn't make out the words, but their body language suggested that whatever they were talking about, emotions were running high. 

Steve felt a spike of alarm when, in response to something Rumlow said with a smirk on his face, Bucky slammed the metal fist into the wall next to Rumlow's head. He'd crowded the taller man against the wall, a snarl on his face, even as Rumlow's expression shifted to a wide, toothy grin, seemingly delighted at the aggressive response. 

Steve realized he was already moving towards them, feeling an undercurrent of violence between the two men that made him think that if he didn't intervene, there was going to be actual bloodshed. As he got closer however, Bucky threw himself backwards away from Rumlow, almost falling against the other wall in his haste. 

There was still a snarl on his face and violence in his voice, even as his body language shifted from aggressive to defensive. Bucky had started speaking louder, emotion driving up his volume, and Steve was finally close enough to hear what was being said. 

"Just fucking leave it alone!" 

Whatever Rumlow was planning on saying in response went unsaid as he caught sight of Steve. That strangely exultant grin shifted to a hard, closed off expression. And then Steve stopped, as he found himself under the gaze of two sets of eyes. The ferocity in Bucky's face faded to something approaching exhaustion as he gazed at Steve. 

And then, without a single word, Rumlow pushed off from the wall. He directed a vicious look at Steve, a contemptuous curl to his mouth, as he passed and turned out onto the street. 

In the wake of his passing, there's dead silence in the air between him and Bucky. Steve didn't have a clue what he had just stepped into, but knew he was already elbow deep in it. 

Bucky was staring at the other wall, at the deep crater and damage done by his fist. Then he scrubbed his right hand over his face, his fingers accidentally catching some strands of hair and yanking them out of their holder. 

"Goddammit," His voice was barely more than a whisper, drained of energy as if the explosion Rumlow had just drawn out of him had snatched away the last of his reserves. 

"Buck…" Steve started, but then trailed off, floundering for what to say, "Are you alright?" 

That got the other man to look at him again at least, as he let out a bleak bark of laughter that lacked any real humor, "You see that little scene, and that's what you're starting with? You might wanna ask the wall that, pal." 

"I think the wall will survive," he noted, keeping his voice mild, "But if you'd prefer, I could start by calling Rumlow a jerk." 

Bucky was slumped against the wall, breathing hard and staring at Steve with an oddly blank expression, "Afraid of dropping quarter in the swear jar there, Steve? And you actually saw what I did there, right?"

Steve stood a few feet away from Bucky now, giving the other man space even as he felt himself practically itching to move closer, "I also saw his face. He was _happy_ you reacted that way." 

He had to fight the urge to offer a hand as Bucky pushed himself away from the wall, but he couldn't stop his eyes from darting anxiously over the other man. Steve wanted to reach out and help in some way, but felt lost and unsure, not understanding what had just happened or what was going on in his friend's head. 

"It's been a long fucking night, and I just want to go home and get some sleep," Bucky sounded utterly exhausted, "Please, Steve, can you just… _not_?"

Steve felt a surge of frustration. Not _what_? Not talk? Not defend him? Not care? But he gritted his teeth and nodded. Now wasn't the time. 

"Okay, Bucky. For now." 

In response Bucky let out a small sigh, closing his eyes for a brief moment, "I'm going to leave a note for maintenance. And then I'm going home. You should really do the same." 

Then the shorter man walked past him towards the security desk, giving Steve a wide berth. After watching him for a long few moments, feeling frustration and anger curling in his fingertips, Steve turned and headed out to the street. Once outside, he tilted his head downwards against the bite of the wind and muttered in a low, angry voice to his team, "I have a term to look up." 

"Uh, are we not going to talk about what just happened?" Barton sounding bemused, "It seems kind of important." 

At least they'd been silent in the middle of all that, even if they'd been listening in. 

Coulson cut in, "What term, Agent Rogers?" 

Steve carefully sounded the term out, before continuing, "I'm not sure of the spelling. I think it's either a place or a person. I overheard Baroness Dietrich mention it to Pierce, asked him to let her know what he thought of it." 

There were several long seconds of silence as he walked, moving briskly down the sidewalk. He could still feel his adrenaline running high, his heart pounding an angry beat in his chest. The bite in the air was almost a relief, helping to provide some distraction. 

Finally, Natasha spoke, "Bijeljina is a city in Bosnia and Herzegovina, near the border of Serbia. It's a less than two hour drive from Belgrade." 

She paused, and Steve could practically hear her thinking in the silence, "That could explain our problems in tying his movements to our evidence. He flies into one country with an official satellite office, does just enough there to make his visit seem legitimate, and then quietly crosses the border to an off-the-books location." 

"Good, we can-" Coulson started, but was cut off by Barton, "Okay, now can we talk about what the hell just happened with Barnes?" 

"It looked like he and Rumlow were having some kind of argument. I went to try and intervene, when Bucky lost his temper and left a hole in the wall," Steve let out a slow breath of air. It would have been a hell of a lot messier if Bucky had hit Rumlow's face with the metal arm, instead of the wall next to it, "I don't know what it was about, but Rumlow seemed to be trying to get a rise out of Bucky. And neither of them were happy to see me." 

"Seems obvious to me," Natasha's voice sounded thoughtful. 

After a moment of quiet, Barton spoke up with a note of exasperation, "You going to elaborate on that for the less observant among us, Natasha?" 

"Lover's spat. Rumlow and Barnes are sleeping together." 

Steve stumbled suddenly as he caught his foot on uneven concrete, and came to a stunned stop, and hissed out, "Wait, Bucky and Rumlow are a _couple __?"_

"No, Steve, I said they're sleeping together. Doesn't mean they're a couple." Steve hastily started moving again, hoping that his ever-present tail had taken his pause as just the result of stubbing his toe. The man from the previous night was still following him, so he really couldn't afford to be careless. 

She continued after a few beats of letting that soak in, "They've been pretty subtle at work, but I've suspected it for a while." 

Steve didn't even know what to think of this. Every time he'd seen them together, they'd both just seemed either professional or angry. 

"They don't act like they're interested in each other. They were violent and angry, not passionate." 

"You know that's how it works for some people, right?" Barton's voice was teasing, but Steve really wasn't in the mood for it, "Do we need to give you The Talk, Cap?" 

He felt his temper flare, but before he could snap out a response, Coulson broke in. 

"That's enough," His handler sounded almost as irritated as Steve, "If you’re all done with your gossip session, can we get to back to work?" 

There was a murmur of apologies and agreement in his ear piece. Steve bit out one as well before going quiet as he entered the subway, listening to the planning in his ear and trying to sort through the unhappy tangle in his chest. 

Bucky and Rumlow? It just didn't make sense. Maybe Natasha had read the situation incorrectly. Although even thinking that felt wrong, a little voice in his head reminding him just how good Natasha was at reading people. But if he accepted it as true, then what did that mean? 

The way Rumlow had shown up at Bucky's place yesterday, Bucky's exhaustion and fury tonight, the way Rumlow looked like he enjoyed seeing Bucky losing control? It all glued together in a way that screamed at him something was wrong here. There was a swell of anxiety in Steve's gut now, that had nothing to do with their mission planning and everything to do Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of Steve here is so much less intense to write than Bucky. Even when he angry, it's a lot less visceral. I also didn't realize quite how much swearing Bucky does in this fic, until I was writing from Steve's perspective and making an active effort for him to not have a potty mouth.
> 
> Next chapter, we get back to Bucky.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said that writing Bucky is a lot more intense than Steve? Well, we're diving right back into that. Also, I am neither doctor nor engineer and am taking extreme liberties with science, as a head's up. 
> 
> Check the end notes for trigger warnings.

_Take cover!_

Bucky exploded into motion, diving to the ground behind the truck. There was a mess of noise around him, a crash close by somehow louder than the gunfire pounding into the dirt only feet from him. They were pinned down, he had to change position. Someone was screaming nearby, the same voice that had yelled the warning just a moment before. It didn't even sound like a person anymore, couldn't be a person. Nothing that sounded like that could be. 

That truck, roll under it, get to the other side. He could smell gasoline, he was lying in a pool of it as it leaked from the fuel tank. Take cover, get eyes on the situation. Get under the damn truck! 

He couldn't move. 

There was a strange sound in his ears, a panicked gasping. One of the other men, he had to get to him, had to- 

It was dark. Was he under the truck? It shouldn't be this dark. It was the middle of the day, the fucking glare had been blinding him just seconds before. He still couldn't move. _Can'tmovecan'tmovecan'tmove_ \- 

Painfully, he realized the gasping he was listening to was himself. 

The darkness around him seemed less deep, and he could make out the shapes around him. He was in a bedroom, but everything was in the wrong position, too high up. Bucky pushed out his left hand, trying to sit, and heard a clatter of small pieces that drew his gaze over. 

Oh. He'd broken a lamp. 

But he still couldn't move, why the fuck couldn't he move? 

Bucky stared at the outline of his bed in the darkness, and it slowly dawned on him why he couldn't move. His legs were tangled up in the sheets and trapped against the side of the bed, while the rest of him lay on the floor. 

Bucky reached and savagely ripped at the sheets with his metal hand, freeing his legs to the sound of a tearing noise. With his legs free, his gasping began to slow, and he let his head thump back into the carpet. 

He was awake. He was home. 

Staring up, he could just barely make out the outline of the ceiling fan, unmoving. He could feel the carpet rubbing against his neck every time he shifted. There was a faint scent of detergent from the sheets. There was the quiet sound of street traffic from outside, even in the middle of a long, dark autumn night. 

Focus on these things. Focus on what's here. Not phantom scents, not whispers and screams. 

After several long minutes of just breathing, of letting his heart calm and his mind settle, Bucky reached out to grip the bed, pulling himself to his feet. He didn't even bother to look down at the bed, instead just grabbing his pillow, and stumbling out of the room. 

\---- 

The ceiling had some kind of discoloration, a round blotch with edges that snaked out like spikes, roughly the size of his hand. How long had it been there? Had it always been there, or did he need to check for some kind of water damage? 

Bucky had been lying on his couch staring at the ceiling for what may very well have been hours at this point. But it was only now that light was starting to creep into the room around the drawn blinds, that he could actually see what he was looking at. He let his head fall to the side, and craned his neck to get a glimpse of the clock. 

Goddammit. His appointment was in an hour. 

He technically had the day off. All of the security detail who'd worked the gala last night did, giving them a chance to rest up before they left for Belgrade that night. But Bucky always had an appointment for arm maintenance before a trip, which would take up a significant chunk of his day. No time to try and get more sleep. 

Not that he'd really done much of that. 

Bucky felt like sand had been rubbed into his eyes. As he wearily pushed himself up into a sitting position, he could feel his stomach squirming in nausea from the lack of sleep. Once upright, he let his eyes fall shut and rubbed at his face, leaving his hand there for few moments longer. The weight of the metal arm had made lying on the couch in pretty much any position awkward, and he could feel an ache deep in his shoulder. 

After the way he'd woken up last night, there was no fucking way he was climbing back into that bed. So he'd grabbed a pillow and gone to the couch, in the hopes that a different space and nothing to tangle himself in would allow him to get some kind of rest. Instead, he'd just found himself staring blindly at the dark ceiling. 

Slowly climbing to his feet, Bucky made his way to the kitchen. Maybe if he ate something he'd feel more human, or at least get rid of that nausea twisting in his stomach. 

There wasn't much in his fridge, but he thought there might still be an orange in there that wasn't too old. 

Aha, success. A bit shriveled looking, but edible. 

Bucky dropped into a chair, peeling the orange carefully. It was good practice for the metal arm, to try and peel the orange without either sticking a finger straight through it, or squeezing it too much. The distraction helped with trying to work himself into a state fit to be around people. The thought of being around others right then, of riding the subway in the rush hour morass and crush of people? It made his skin crawl. Even the idea of setting foot out his fucking door right now made his insides knot up. 

Routine. Stick to his routine. Eat the orange, get cleaned up, get some coffee. Maybe take a cab instead of his usual train. He could make this work. 

And he needed to remember clean up the damn lamp. 

\---- 

The routine had helped. Bucky still didn't feel quite human, but he at least didn't feel like he was going to snap. Even the orange had been a success, although it had been a slight bit squished and overly-messy by the time he'd eaten it. Even still he'd taken a cab, both because he wasn't about to test his control on the subway this morning and because it had taken him long enough to knit himself together that he ran the risk of being late. 

He glanced up at the large clock high above the atrium as he entered, noting that he had made it in with a few minutes to spare. Maybe he wouldn't be late after all. 

Bucky couldn't help but sneak a quick look at the hallway to the garage as he passed, and felt the sharp cut of shame in chest at seeing the crater he'd left in the wall. The shame was accompanied by a sick feeling in his gut at the mental image of what could have happened, if he'd punched just an inch to the right. 

Last night he'd been on edge. The gala had been a nightmare. Bucky thought he could have handled it if he'd just been there to keep watch, even if he'd been tense from the stress of so many people and exit and threats. But being treated like a fucking prop, surrounded by strangers he was supposed to be watching, while they kept staring at that hand? 

But he'd held it together. By the end of the night, his neck and shoulders were aching from the tension, but he'd done his job. 

And then Rumlow wants to start a fucking fight over his twisted jealousy issues? Fuck him. 

Bucky could feel the anger pound in his chest at just the memory of their brief but volatile discussion, but knew that didn't justify his reaction. And goddammit, Steve just had to see it. What a great re-introduction. 

He needed to get a handle on things. He couldn't do anything like that again. 

Bucky swiped his badge across the scanner, just grunting at Melvin's cheerful attempt at a greeting, before moving over to the elevator. Even while lost in his own head , he still scanned the room periodically to take note of who was there. 

He entered the elevator with a small crush of people, jabbing the button for the 7th floor labs, and putting himself in the back corner where he could see everyone and no one could get behind him. Just perfect, of course he'd wind up arriving just when most people were coming in for work. He'd avoided the rush on the subway, just to get it in the fucking elevator. 

By the time it reached his floor, he was eager enough to get off of it that he pushed through, ignoring complaints from the people he shouldered out of his way. Then he started down the hallway, just slightly behind a lab tech who'd gotten off the elevator on the same floor. 

Was that…? Huh. It was the same curly-haired lab tech he'd scared just a couple of days ago. And was probably still scaring, if the nervous looks the guy kept throwing over his shoulder at Bucky were any indication. Looks like he'd made an impression. 

_Not my fault we're going the same direction here, pal._

The skinny tech turned into one of the labs, swiping his badge hastily across the scanner for the door before entering, and Bucky felt a brief flash of amusement at the realization that they're actually going to the same lab. 

After he'd followed the guy into the lab, however, the tech swung around to face him. 

"Okay, why are you following me? I haven't done anything." 

Bucky just stared at him for a moment, noting that the Scottish (to judge by the accent) man had one hand raised defensively between them, and the other anxiously clenched by his side. 

"I'm not on duty," Bucky started, bemused by how nervous the tech seemed. Were all of the employees here that scared of Pierce's security and he had just never noticed? "I have an appointment." 

"What?" The other guy gaped at him for a moment, "Uh, appointment? You're, what, _really_?" 

Was any of that supposed to make sense? 

Then he spun around and checked clipboard on a nearby counter, "Oh, uh, right! You're, you're James Barnes?" 

Bucky gave a wary nod in return, watching as the tech waved his hands in the air and stumbled over more words, wondering if he should back up a few steps to avoid the flailing. 

"Um," The tech said helpfully. 

"Gillies, stop scaring him." 

A short man in a lab coat with greying hair and glasses had entered through a door on the other side of the room, peering through the papers in his hands. Someone he actually knew, that was a relief. He was starting to feel a bit worried that this spastic ball of nerves might be doing his maintenance. 

"Dr. Bell." 

The older man set his papers on the counter as he reached them, offering a reserved smile, "Good morning, Mr. Barnes. This is Fitzgerald Gillies. He's one of our engineers, and is going to be observing your maintenance this morning to learn more about the process." 

Bucky shot a brief glance at the engineer, noting that the younger-looking man had calmed down and stopped waving his hands around in a panic, although there was now a flush of embarrassment on his face. He gave a slight nod of agreement, but Dr. Bell had already turned, moving towards the other side of the room. 

"Well then, let's get started. Shall we?" He gestured towards the door he'd come through. 

Bucky moved towards it, pausing only to pull off his jacket and slip his shirt over his head, hanging them on hooks just inside the door. Then, reluctantly, he entered the room. The maintenance room was small, with a row of cabinets along the wall, a small movable table with tools already laid out, and a small desk with a computer. And there was the chair, a large reclining metal monstrosity. 

He could already feel anxiety curling his toes. He fucking hated this chair, hated the regular maintenance that the arm required. But he settled into it without complaint. 

Dr. Bell and the engineer, Gillies, were scurrying around doing something. His answer to what came a moment later, as electrodes were being attached to his chest first, and then his temples. He just kept staring up, the reclining chair angled in a way that made it most comfortable direction to look. 

"Now as you already know, it's important that the individuals chosen to wear these prosthetics are in prime health, apart from the obvious defect. You must monitor their vitals during the course of maintenance, to ensure that no problems arise." 

The doctor's voice had taken on a lecturing tone, clearly treating this as an educational exercise for his young protege. Bucky gritted his teeth. He hadn't even touched the arm yet. Bucky had a sinking feeling that maintenance was going to take longer than usual if the older man was going to be narrating the whole thing. 

He heard a pinging sound and the clatter of metal, which he knew was the sound of a small, hidden panel being pried open, and then a small cable was slid into the open gap and attached. It was hooked to a computer and Bucky caught a glimpse of the software loading on the screen, code scrolling across it. 

"I won't go into detail about the arm's programming. Just know that we are starting with running diagnostics on the arm's processors to see if there are any errors, before we begin the more manual examinations and conduct any tests." 

The engineer said something in response, but Bucky was focusing on the ceiling, stubbornly trying to block out the talking. He didn't want to hear every single fucking step laid out, he just wanted it done so he could go home. 

Staring at the ceiling made him think of the splotch he'd noticed on his own ceiling this morning. How would he check if it was water damage? There was another floor above him, did that mean they had a leak? 

A shock ran through his shoulder, making him flinch. They'd just cut motor function to the arm. 

The splotch hadn't looked particularly wet up there, so that probably meant it wasn’t brand new at least. 

Another sharp sear ran into his shoulder, dragging his attention back to the two scientists working on his arm. The young engineer was giving him a slightly anxious look, chewing on his bottom lip as Dr. Bell fiddled with something under a plate in the arm. 

"Shouldn't we give him an anesthetic?" 

"No, no. It's important in the readings to see what the nervous system response is. Introducing anything like that would alter it, if not hide the response entirely. We can't do diagnostics if we can't see the result, now can we?" The doctor adjusted something in the panel he currently had open, and Bucky let out an involuntary hiss at the resulting sting that traveled through his shoulder, "See that, Gillies? The readings are showing a strong and stable connection, exactly what we want." 

Dr. Bell turned his gaze up from the arm and met Bucky's eyes. "Mr. Barnes, how has your fine motor control been since the last adjustments? My notes say that you were having problems with that last time." 

"Better," he noted curtly, "But I break things sometimes. It's still too easy to ramp up the strength in the arm without meaning to." 

The doctor gave distracted nod as he closed up that panel and started fiddling with another, "We can adjust the sensitivity down a bit more. But we don't want to adjust that too much, or we'll risk making it overly difficult to use the extra strength the arm provides." 

Might not be such a bad thing to knock down the strength a few notches. He could do a hell of a lot of damage if he made use of it. 

Bucky fixed his eyes back on the ceiling again, trying to get back to his earlier train of thought as Dr. Bell instructed Gillies on what to change in the code. But it was difficult to focus, with the periodic stabs of pain in his shoulder. 

Times like this, he wondered if there hadn't been an element of sadism in the design of the prosthetics. The initial process of building the shoulder port was a difficult one, starting with amputating whatever was left of the person's arm to the point where they could essentially rebuild the shoulder. Nerve endings were carefully teased into the re-created shoulder port, so that the prosthetic literally hooked into the nervous system. 

It meant that there was an element of control over the arm that was miraculous in comparison to other tech out there, but it also meant working on those ports could fucking _hurt_. 

It went on for a time before the doctor got his attention again, this time with a frown "Have you done something different with the arm? I’m getting an unusual response from a connection port." 

Crap. Maybe the ache in his shoulder this morning had been telling him something. 

"I uh, I slept on it wrong. And I used the arm at full strength last night." 

_Don't ask why, don't ask why…_

Dr. Bell's response was an irritated huff and disapproving look, "You should have told me you used full strength at the beginning of our session. And then you slept on it, after that? You have very specific guidelines on how to sleep while wearing the arm, Mr. Barnes." 

Lay flat on your back, arm resting next to you fully extended. Don't lay on your side, with the arm above or beneath you. Don't lay on your stomach. Might be part of why he had so much fucking trouble sleeping these days, as he had to sleep in a single position designed to minimize the stress on the ports and give his shoulder time to recover from a day of use. He used to sleep curled up on his side, but he'd had to relearn how to sleep once he'd gotten the arm. 

"The ports have been shifted slightly. Not enough to impede function, yet, but enough that we should handle this before it becomes a more severe problem. Particularly if you are going to make a habit of sleeping improperly," Dr. Bell fixed a stern glare on Bucky at that, before continuing, "We'll remove the arm, correct the arm's port as well as your shoulder, and then tomorrow-" 

"We're flying out tonight. I need the arm," Bucky felt alarm growing in his chest. He needed the arm to do his fucking job, and he couldn't not fly out tonight. What kind of security detail would he be, if he's on the wrong goddamn continent with only one goddamn arm? 

"Fine. We'll remove the arm now, do some quick fixes and get it back to you this afternoon," The older man scowled at him, clearly unhappy, "And then once you've returned from your trip, you will come back here and we will do the adjustments to your shoulder." 

Dr. Bell picked something up off the tray of tools, and closed up the panel he'd been working on. Then he repositioned the tool he had taken to a seam that separated the shoulder base from the arm, and made the necessary adjustments to begin removal. Bucky just stared up, already feeling his heart pick up pace in anticipation. 

Finally, he felt a hand on the fleshy part of his shoulder, drawing his attention. The doctor was looking at him as he asked, "Are you ready?" 

Bucky gaze a sharp nod, clenching his right fist onto the arm rest. He could see Gillies behind the doctor, with widened eyes and a confused turn to his mouth. 

Then there was what felt like a shockwave, starting in his shoulder and rolling through his entire body. He gritted his teeth against it, a low groan escaping his throat as his whole body went rigid. 

And then it was done, and he let himself fall limp against the chair, his heart pounding like he had just been running through the halls rather than lying in a chair. 

"Holy…that looked like it hurt. Did it hurt? Are you alright?" 

Bucky just closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Did it hurt, what'd it fucking look like? And wasn't this guy one of Pierce's goddamn engineers, shouldn't he know how this works? 

"And that, Gillies, is why we don't regularly remove the prosthetics. The disconnection from the nervous system is very taxing on the subjects, with subsequent reconnection even more so." 

He felt the electrodes being removed, and a shifting around his shoulder. Gillies and Bell were still talking, with the engineer stumbling over his words again like earlier. He seemed reluctant to leave the room, even as Dr. Bell urged him out. 

By the time Bucky opened his eyes again, the doctor and engineer had left the room, leaving Bucky regain himself without being stared at. Rolling his head to the side, he noted that the shifting he'd felt had been a cloth cover being carefully fixed to the shoulder port, to keep out dust and dirt. He couldn't get it wet like this, but the cover would keep out contaminants until the arm was replaced. 

Part of the process to receive the prosthetic was creating the base for it to attach to. It meant that he had metal incorporated into his shoulder, all the connections into his nervous system hidden in that base. It was the reason why the arm even could be removed. It also meant that any work to the arm could be a strictly mechanical process, and not require additional surgery on the fleshy areas. 

It also made him wonder what would happen if at some point, he was fired and they took the arm. The arm was Pierce Industries property, after all. And while he was useful now, that spark of fear he'd felt at the possibility of not being able to do his job made him wonder. What if he couldn't do it? What would happen then? 

Bucky pushed away those nagging thoughts and pulled himself up out of the chair before snagging his shirt from where it was hanging. He fiddled with it for a few moments, before managing to get it over his head, and his arm through it. The other sleeve dangled loose. If he'd realized they were going to take the arm, he'd have brought a pin to fold it up. 

There was a break room a couple doors down. He could get the key from Dr. Bell, lock himself in for a few hours until they were ready to give him back the arm. He might even manage to get some sleep. 

Maybe there'd be some snack in there Bucky could eat. Hunger was curling in his stomach, that orange not having been nearly enough, but there was no fucking way he was leaving the building to get food. He could deal with hunger, if it meant not venturing into the crowds of downtown Manhattan with only one arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for intense nightmares and (fake) medical procedures. 
> 
> So I've been intending on slipping in little cameos here and there from Agents of SHIELD. No real intention of doing much with them in this story, just little things here or there. I figured hey, SHIELD has people undercover at Pierce Industries, so why not? There's a lot more going on than just the little snapshots here. I slipped in a particular Scottish engineer into the first chapter, and figured that'd be it. No intention of mentioning him again, and wasn't expecting anyone to even realize who it was, since I didn't give much detail. 
> 
> Then this chapter happened, and he just kind of...showed up again. Apparently, he wanted some screen time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you check the end notes for trigger warnings if you need to. Things are still pretty intense. More fake science ahead.
> 
> In my original outline this was supposed to be part of chapter 5, but when I actually wrote it, it wound up WAAAY too long for that. So two chapters it is.

Bucky snapped awake at the sound of a key in the door, and swung quickly into seated position. Scanning the room, he noted what few things could be used as weapons – there was a multi-legged chair he could break, a filing cabinet he could push over for cover. He could break the coffee pot, use the shards. There was some cutlery in a drawer by the microwave, could make adequate projectiles.

He moved to stand but staggered, his balance unsettled by-

Oh. 

There was just an empty sleeve hanging where the metal arm usually was. This was the break room, he was waiting for Dr. Bell to come get him to reattach the arm. That was probably him at the door now.

But the person who opened the door was not a short, greying doctor. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Bucky asked sharply, feeling his irritation from last night spark up again at the sight of Rumlow entering the small break room where he'd been napping.

"Looking for you," Rumlow left the door behind him open, and stopped just inside. Bucky felt another surge of annoyance at seeing that he looked like he'd gotten plenty of sleep last night. 

"You weren't hard to find. I knew you'd have your maintenance this morning," And being the chief of security, he could get keys for anywhere in the building without questions being asked. Rumlow's gaze lingered on the empty sleeve, and he drawled out, "Do a little damage last night?"

"Minor fixes. I'll have it back before we fly out," Bucky bit out the words, trying to ignore the reflexive clench in his gut.

Rumlow folded his arms across his chest, "Don't want to miss the chance to spend some more time with your old pal, huh _Bucky_?"

"Don't you fucking start that again."

Goddamn jealous asshole.

"Fine, fine. No need to get aggressive there," Rumlow's voice held a familiar hint of sarcasm, and a small smile crept onto his face, "Or actually, why don't we get aggressive? Come down to the gym with me."

"You're joking," Bucky said in a flat tone, eyeing the other man skeptically, "I'm down an arm, and you wanna spar? And the doc might be ready for me soon."

"He can call you. And it might do you some good to work out that anger," Rumlow's smile had turned into something teasing, but his next words carried a bite to them, "Especially when you can't leave a crater next to my head."

Pushing down the twist of guilt, Bucky narrowed his eyes at the challenge, "You think I can't take you without the arm?"  


The taller man laughed at him in response, "I know you can't."

Bucky growled. 

Rumlow tilted his head to the side as he watched Bucky, a familiar darkness creeping into his eyes, "Prove me wrong, Barnes. Prove me wrong."

He let out a slow breath, feeling his pulse already quickening in anticipation. This was a really bad idea. But it also sounded pretty damn good.

So he glared at Rumlow but gave a curt nod, before moving forward. The other man slid out of his way, and then followed behind him as they headed down the hallway to the elevators. There was a gym for employees on the 3rd floor that they had made use of before.

There was a tension between the two of them now, something slowly growing with a sense of impending violence and anticipation. There was someone on the elevator when they got on, but she took one look at the two of them and hastily got off. 

It didn't take long to make it down to the gym. There were a handful of people there working out on the equipment, but the ring was clear. There was boxing equipment set up alongside it, but they wouldn't be needing any that. 

Bucky stepped towards the ring, studying it for a moment before pulling off his shirt. The loose sleeve would just be a liability, and he didn't have anything to pin it up with. Absently, he noted the few employees present were hurrying out of the room as Rumlow delivered hard glares at them. 

They had the room to themselves.

He hung up his shirt on a hook hanging near the ring, and pulled his wallet and phone out of his pockets. No need to risk damaging them. Then he pulled up one of the ropes tethering the ring, and slipped in. 

Walking to the far side of the ring, he glanced down and checked to make sure the cloth cover over his shoulder port was firmly in place while Rumlow joined him. It should be able to handle some sparring without coming off. The other man hadn't bothered to take anything off, but then he was already wearing a relatively form-fitting shirt, not too many handholds available on it.

"Rules?" Better make sure they had some sort of basis they were working from, even if they were forgoing protective gear. Probably not the smartest move, but Bucky couldn't really bring himself to care.

Rumlow had a lazy smile on his face, head tilted down as he gathered tension into his body. "No eye or groin shots. Whoever wins is the one left standing. Other than that, I think we know each other well enough to make this work."

Bucky planted his feet, gauging his balance and already trying to think of how to adjust for the lack of weight on his shoulder. The arm was very heavy, and he had learned to compensate for that in everything from his stance to the way he moved. That was going to add an interesting challenge, even apart from the fact that he was going to be fighting with only one goddamn arm. He'd sparred with Rumlow on plenty of occasions, but this was the first time since both of his arms flesh, that he'd done any kind of fighting sans the arm.

They stood on opposite sides of the ring, studying each other. The room was silent, but that didn't even matter. His attention had zeroed in in Rumlow, as if the rest of the world no longer existed. Bucky felt hyper-focused and clear-headed, as he watched the slight shift in his opponent's feet and the way his eyes darted. Rumlow was thinking, planning his moves and trying to decide where to make the first strike.

No reason to let him.

Bucky waited a split second longer, until Rumlow's eyes darted to the side and Bucky knew he was on the verge of striking, before he charged.

Rumlow clearly hadn't been expecting it. This wasn't how Bucky normally handled a fight; he usually hung back, waiting for a sign from his opponent first. He should have thought more about it. But he's already down an arm, so why would he rely on his usual tactics?

Rumlow flinched back and raised arms to block him, but Bucky darted to the side, not even trying for a shot yet. He was already off balance without the arm. He needed to get his opponent off balance too.

Dart in again, dodge. Build a pattern, make him think he knows what you're doing. Then, finally, dart in to strike. Bucky could feel his blood singing with the adrenaline.

Block with- fuck, only one arm. He took the hit to his chest, but swung up his knee and got in one of his own before falling back.

They were both already breathing hard, but he grinned at Rumlow as they circled again. There was a fire in him, burning away the fog he'd struggled with all morning. Burning through his irritation and frustration from the night before. He could see the same fire running through other man.

They tested each other, brief strikes and quick movements. Engage, fall back. Circling again, waiting to see who was going to move next. 

This time, Rumlow was the one to strike first.

Bucky ducked under the outthrust fist, swinging around to deliver a sharp kick. But instead, his legs were swept out from under him, and he instinctively tried to catch himself.

With his non-existent arm.

A swear word made it halfway out his mouth before he landed hard on the ground, a whoosh of air spilling out of his lungs, and then tried to roll away. But Rumlow had followed him down, crashing into his back as he made it only partway through his roll.

Bucky struggled, twisting his legs around the other man's to try and flip them, to get leverage. Rumlow wrapped his legs back around Bucky's, however, and the struggling only served to get his one arm pinned beneath him. 

One leg free, angle it around, almost got it-

And then there was a huff of laughter and an arm around his throat, "Don't give up, do you?"

Bucky felt a rush of pleasure in hearing how out of breath he'd managed to get Rumlow, even disadvantaged by the lack of the arm, and tried to inch out his remaining arm from underneath. Maybe he could elbow the guy, hit the gut and get him to loosen his grip. He certainly wouldn't mind flipping the tables here.

The arm tightened.

There was a murmur in his ear, "You enjoying yourself there, Barnes? You sure look like it."

Well, he had been. But kind of hard to enjoy the fight when he couldn’t breathe.

"I know I am."

He slipped out his arm free, slammed his elbow back with a satisfying thud, and tried to roll them over. Rumlow had thrown himself into the roll as well and they just kept rolling, landing with goddamn Rumlow on top again. And his arm still around Bucky's neck.

There was another hint of laughter in his ear, words gasped quietly even as the arm around his neck tightened again, "Can't top me without that arm."

Can't breathe, can't fucking _breathe_ -

Bucky thrashed, but this time Rumlow had managed to use his free arm to help trap Bucky's. 

"Thought you were gonna prove me wrong. But you like it this way, you always have."

There were spots in his vision, and his thrashing was becoming less coordinated. Couldn't break free, _goddammit_ , Rumlow wasn't loosening his arm.

"That's enough!"

Abruptly, Bucky could breathe again.

The weight on his back disappeared, and he rolled to his side, gasping for breath.

"Rogers. Don't you have something better to do?" Rumlow voice was full of contempt, an undercurrent of anger just on the edge of an explosion.

"He was down. You'd already won."

Bucky rubbed at his throat, still laying on his side as he took in the scene in front of him. Steve was standing beside the ring, arms on the ropes. One rope was already pulled down, tension coiled in his body still as he glared. His jaw was clenched, a visible tick in it.

"He was still fighting," Rumlow was standing not far from him, arms deceptively loose at his sides. He couldn't see the guy's expression from here, but he could hear the low growl under his words, could see the violence in his posture.

Steve's face contorted briefly, creasing his forehead and narrowing his eyes in a way that spoke of outright fury, "That's because you were _choking him_."

Steve looked ready to spring into the ring right then and there, and Bucky knew that he if didn't do something right now, those two were going to come to blows. And it wouldn't be a sparring session.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, the movement catching the attention of the other men, and directed a hard look at Rumlow. Break up the focus those two had on each other, make Rumlow split up his anger between the two of them. It helped that his own anger had started to stir back up. The fight had been helping balance it, up until he couldn't fucking breath.

"You went too far."

He always went too goddamn far.

Rumlow drew back, a startled expression on his face before he wiped it away and replaced it with a furious scowl. What, had the guy thought he wanted to be choked, what the hell?

"Yeah? Well maybe you should think hard about how far you're willing to take things, Barnes." 

What did that even mean?

Bucky watched, feeling confusion sprout up in his chest as Rumlow marched to the other side of the ring and slipped out through the ropes. And then, giving Steve a wide berth, Rumlow left the gym after giving Bucky one last dark look.

Shifting forward so that he could stop leaning on his arm, he reached back up and rubbed at his throat some more. He gazed after the door Rumlow had just left through, "Sometimes when I talk to that guy, I feel like I'm only getting half the conversation."

Bucky looked down at this shoulder, aware of Steve moving in his peripherals but distracted at the realization that at some point in their fight (when they were wrestling around on the floor seemed pretty damn likely), the cloth cover had come off.

_And there I was rolling all over this goddamn floor with the ports exposed, just fucking perfect._

He snatched the cover up from where it was only a short distance from him, and started trying to re-attach it. But it really didn't want to cooperate.

Who would make something to cover the shoulder port, and not also design it to be put on with one fucking hand?

"Here, let me help," Bucky flinched in surprise as Steve kneeled down beside him. He'd registered Steve moving into the ring, but somehow hadn't realized just how close the other man had gotten. At his flinch, Steve stopped, frozen for a moment as he clearly didn't know whether or not to pull back.

Bucky swallowed, and nodded, "Yeah, okay. It uh, it's kind of a two hand job."

That was no response or movement, and he raised his gaze from the port to see what the hold up was. Steve's expression was mixed, his previous anger still present, but also a twist of something like humor. And when Bucky met his eyes, Steve let out a helpless snort of laughter. 

Bucky paused, rewound his words, "Oh, fuck! That's not what I meant!" His face was heating up with the realization of his slip. He could drop innuendos with the best of them, but not when he didn't fucking mean to say them! This wasn't the goddamn time, Barnes!

"I just meant that I only have one hand, and you've got two, and oh goddamn it..." Bucky hid his face behind his hand. 

There was another snort of laughter, but then he felt Steve's hands adjusting the cover onto his shoulder and fitting it into place.

Bucky chanced a glance up then. Steve was crouched down right beside him, still with one hand on his shoulder. His face was close, lines of amusement creased around his eyes even as his lips kept twitching in an attempt to get himself under control, to stop what he was pretty damn sure had been a giggle just a moment ago. God, how did he have eyelashes that long? 

Steve's expression softened, the mirth sliding away into something gentler, as he reached out with his other hand. He didn't touch, but his hand hovered close to Bucky's neck where he'd been rubbing it just moments before, as if he wanted to touch. And Bucky found that somehow, he couldn't seem to move.

"I'm going to have to upgrade my assessment from jerk to asshole, now," Steve's voice was quiet but intense. His eyes were fixed on Bucky's throat, his hand still hovering in the air, not willing to touch without permission.

Bucky felt his pulse speeding along, adrenaline still surging after the fight. He took a breath, but couldn't quite seem to steady his voice as he murmured back, "Gonna lose all your money to the swear jar, Stevie."

Bucky suddenly felt very aware of the fact that he was sitting on the ground shirtless, with Steve literally centimeters from him.

Steve abruptly seemed to startle and pull back. He fell back on his hands, and Bucky felt a stab of disappointment as the other man leaned away from him.

_Cool it Barnes, that's not what this is._

Steve's eyes darted around, before settling onto his now covered shoulder, speaking up hastily, "Is it a problem that it was uncovered?"

Well, that dampened things down. Bucky grimaced in response, "They'll have to re-sanitize the ports before putting the arm back on. The cover's meant to keep out dust and dirt and shit."

God he hated having the ports cleaned. But he knew he couldn't risk not telling the doctor about it, not after rolling around on these floors. He'd seen how it had gone for one of the early subjects, when the port got infected. It hadn't been pretty, and the guy sure as hell hadn't been able to make use of Pierce prosthetics afterwards.

A quiet settled between them, but he could tell Steve was working up to something. He was chewing on his lower lip, worrying it back and forth. 

"What is it, Steve? I can see your brain whirring away over there."

"Just, Rumlow? I don't get it."

Okay, Steve was a lot more observant than he remembered. 

"I mean, there was that thing last night. And the guy just choked you in the middle of a sparring session," Steve's eyes studied his shoulder again, before he continued, "A sparring session you probably shouldn't have even been doing."

"I'm not helpless without that fucking arm," Bucky snapped out, anger flaring despite the guilty reminder in his head that he knew it was a bad idea. A sparring session, when he hadn't slept well, had maintenance, and was flying out that night for work? Yeah. He knew.

But Steve just shook his head, "That's not what I meant, but the port cover came off. You shouldn't be risking your health like that."

"I don't need a goddamn lecture from you," Bucky knew he was being too defensive, but having Steve sitting there, scolding him like a misbehaving child? Fuck no, he didn’t need that.

He shifted to start and get up, but Steve reached out, hand falling just short of actually touching him, "Wait, Buck. I'll stop."

Bucky set his jaw and stared at Steve, but when nothing more was forthcoming, settled back down. And then let out a low sigh, looking off to the side. 

"Look, it's just...sometimes I need to get out of my own head. I get stuck in these loops, until I feel like I'm gonna shake apart. And when I finally do, it won't be pretty," Bucky rubbed at his forehead, looking down, "I feel like I'm fucking crazy when I get like that."

Steve was quiet, but he could practically feel the guy staring him down. There was a part of him that was flipping out, that didn't get why the fuck he was actually saying any of this to him. But right alongside that, there was this need, this insistent thing, that wanted Steve to understand. 

Because Bucky knew what he had with Rumlow was bad from an outsider's perspective. They were violent and harsh and sometimes just plain nasty to each other, but it worked. It helped. Up until Rumlow would step over the goddamn line, and then get pissed off when Bucky called him on it.

Lately things had been spiraling, and he couldn't figure out how to get it to just stop. 

"It feels like half the time I'm on the edge of something," God, he didn't want to think about that. He'd gotten a close glimpse of what might lie just over that edge last night and it had fucking terrified him, "And Rumlow, he takes it, that violence, and just shifts it. Redirects it a little. Enough."

Bucky couldn't look at Steve. Couldn't take seeing his expression, couldn't taken seeing his reaction. One thing he remembered about Steve, the thing that had always stuck with him? Steve was good. There was something in there that never seemed to shift, some bedrock of strength that had always dumbfounded him. But what Bucky had twisting around inside him, what he was trying to explain? That didn't even belong in the same room as Steve fucking Rogers. Didn't belong the in same _world _.__

"Buck, last night he didn't redirect it. I saw his face, he _wanted_ you to explode. And this, what happened just now?" Bucky still couldn't look at Steve, but could hear the strain in his voice, "That's not okay. He wasn't helping you. And you know it."

"He just takes it too far sometimes."

 _All the time_.

Any further conversation stopped as a quiet ding rang out. Looking over at the small table near the edge of the ring, he could see his phone screen lit up.

"That's probably the doc. Might have the arm ready."

Thank fuck for the interruption. He'd heard the deep breath Steve had taken in, and knew he was about to go off on one of his goddamn speeches. He'd heard him give enough of the things when they were kids. Steve didn't get it, what Bucky had been trying to put into words, that was fucking obvious. 

But then again, maybe he should be glad for that. Because the guy sure as hell wouldn't be sticking around like this if he understood. Steve was so focused on the Rumlow side of the equation he'd forgotten Bucky was part of it too. He wasn't the same guy he'd been when they were younger, the guy who had fit with Steve so goddamn well. 

Bucky shifted and climbed to his feet, ignoring the few twinges of pain from where Rumlow had gotten in hits. He'd probably have a few nice bruises from the fight. Then he pulled up the rope and climbed out. He could hear Steve scramble up behind him, but didn't look to check. Instead, he walked over to the table to check his phone.

A text message from the doc. They needed him back upstairs. 

Turning around to grab his shirt, he came up short and rocked back on his heels. Steve was already there, holding his shirt out for him. And goddammit, he had those goofy big eyes again. _Seriously Rogers, is this gonna be your reaction every time we argue, that kicked puppy look?_

It shouldn't be so effective on someone that large. But still he sighed, feeling his defensiveness soften a bit as he took the shirt. And after pulling it on, he studied Steve for a moment. The guy was still just standing there, looking awkward and unsure.

"You wanna come with me?" He blurted it out and almost immediately after, felt a flash of panic. 

Surprise appeared on Steve's face, "You mean to get your arm re-attached?"

Bucky took in a breath, and decided to double down on it. There was a voice in the back of his mind screaming at him that it was a really bad idea, but hell, he'd been the king of bad ideas today. Might as well keep it going. And he had to do something to get that look off Steve's face, to try and make it clear he wasn't mad at the guy. So he nodded.

"Are you sure you're okay with being there?"

"I wouldn't invite you if I wasn't," God, he was such a liar. He could feel his stomach twisting around. But he just gave Steve a stubborn, challenging look and delivered a warning, "It won't be fun."

Steve ran his eyes over Bucky's face. He wasn't sure what the guy was looking for, but finally he nodded, a serious expression on his face, "Okay, Buck. I'll stay with you."

After stuffing his phone and wallet back into his pocket, Bucky turned and headed for the door, Steve right behind him. His gut was twisting in anxiety and frustration over Steve not getting it. But if Steve had understood, he doubted he'd have him at his back now. 

Getting the arm put back on was godawful, but having a friend at his back...maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

\----

He was wrong. This was a really bad fucking idea.

It hadn't been at first. Actually, it had been kind of entertaining when they'd first shown up. Dr. Bell hadn't batted an eye at another person being present, but that Gillies kid had startled stumbling all over himself again.

Maybe the guy was just scared of anyone new. Because seriously, Steve wasn't all that fucking scary. Tall, yes. Could break you in half without breaking a sweat, yes. But scary? He had ridiculous hair and a goofy smile. Not scary. Unless he was about to give you one of his goddamn speeches, anyway.

Bucky had been okay for the initial part. Steve stood on the other side of the chair, quiet and watchful. He'd already admitted that the port cover had come off, and dealt with the subsequent scolding. After this session, he had a feeling Dr. Bell was going to be labeling him as a troublemaker; slept wrong, damaged the ports, and now potentially contaminated them? Yeah, he was making a great impression.

He'd been a little less okay during the sanitation. The process of cleaning the ports involved spraying them with some kind of solution that sank into the ports and fucking stung. And then it was followed by compressed air, the same type of thing you'd use to clean out a computer. And all of it done on the ports that were a direct connection to his nervous system.

But Bucky had held himself together through it. Hell, Steve might have had a harder time than him. At one point he'd noticed the guy clenching his jaw so hard he was afraid he was going to break his teeth, and glaring at the doctor like he was contemplating murder. It seemed to be making the engineer extra nervous, but Dr. Bell was as collected as he always was.

But now? Now it was time for the arm to be put back. And that was going to fucking hurt, and if Steve had looked like he wanted to murder someone during the sanitation, what was he going to look like with this?

Dr. Bell had everything in place. The arm was resting there on the side table, ready to attach and already hooked up to the machine that would reactivate it. And he was offering him that goddamn bite guard, while his insides twisted around.

"Wait, a bite guard? Can't you give him something? A pain killer, a sedative, something?" Steve sounded freaked out. Not that he blamed the guy, he hadn't really given him much warning.

"Mr. Rogers, to ensure that the arm is properly connected into his nervous system and functioning properly, there can be no interference. After the arm is mechanically connected, an electrical charge has to run through it. The only thing I could potentially give him is nitrous oxide, which he had repeatedly turned down in the past."

Fuck no. That stuff had messed him up the one time he'd tried it. Laughing gas, his ass it was laughing gas. That crap didn't really block pain, it just screwed with your head to try and make you not care. He had enough crap screwing with his head already, he didn't need something else doing it too.

"Steve," Bucky started, getting the guy's attention. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he'd rather be somewhere else, "You don't have to stay for this. You can go."

But instead of jumping on the chance and fleeing, Steve pursed his lips and shook his head, "I'm staying."

Stubborn punk.

Bucky turned his head back towards the doctor, and opened his mouth to receive the bite guard. He was clenching the armrest with his hand, feeling anxiety just on the edge of panic curling in his chest. 

"Are you ready, Mr. Barnes?"

There was a hand on his. He turned his head, startled, to see that Steve had put his hand down over Bucky's. Bucky swallowed once, flipping his hand around to be holding onto Steve, and then gave the doctor a small nod.

He felt a shift near his shoulder, the arm being slid into place. Bucky let out a small, choked sound at the initial shockwave of connection, which he knew as the arm lining up and slotting in with the ports. 

Then the world exploded and he didn't know anything. 

By the time he came back to himself, everything was quiet. The bite guard was gone, and he knew in a vague, fuzzy way that he must have passed out. That happened, sometimes. He wished it always did. But there was a familiar scratchiness in his throat, so he knew it couldn't have been right at the start.

There was a deep ache radiating from somewhere within his shoulder, little spiky tendrils of pain spread out in all directions. Maybe he could just not move, just lie there for the next week.

Slowly, Bucky realized someone was still holding his hand. He opened his eyes to see Steve in a chair beside him, folded over in on himself, clutching at his hand.

"Hey."

Steve's head jerked up, and a smile blossomed on his face, "Hey, Bucky. You're awake.

Shit, the guy looked wrecked. He shouldn't have invited him, should have known Steve wouldn't take it well. "God, Steve, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to see that."

He'd invited his childhood best friend to see him screaming in pain. Great fucking plan, Barnes.

The grip on his hand tightened and the other guy gave him a mulish look, "No. I'm glad I was here."

Bucky's skepticism didn't get a chance to rear up however, as he felt a surge of panic and tried to sit up, "Shit, what time is it?"

"Hey, calm down," Steve put his free hand on Bucky's fleshy shoulder, providing support, "You weren't out long. We've still got most of the day before we have to be at the airport."

Thank fuck.

"Look, why don't we find someplace for you get some rest? You can get take a nap, and I can run out and get us some food."

Holy fucking god that sounded good. Bucky attempted a smile at Steve, feeling achy and exhausted, and hoped it came across like he meant it. He could feel guilt dancing around in his chest, but it was accompanied by a sense of gladness. Maybe it really hadn't been a bad idea to invite Steve along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for fighting, non-consensual choking, and major self worth issues. Also, another (fake) medical procedure. Basically this chapter is an all around bundle of fun.
> 
> Writing the fight scene was kind of nerve-wracking. I wanted to use it to reveal more about the characters and their relationship, but not be overly descriptive and bog down the action.
> 
> As a side note...the hand job pun just kind of happened. I wrote it sort of accidentally and was like, what the hell did I just write? So I kept it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I struggled so much with writing this chapter. Sometimes a chapter comes smoothly, but this one fought me. It didn't help that I've been super tired. I had to move over 300 miles with just a week's notice, so I'm actually kind of shocked I still got this out in time for my scheduled weekly update. 
> 
> But it is here, and the plot is chugging along!

Sitting on the jet as it cruised along steadily, Bucky was surprised at how much energy he had. He wasn't feeling great, sure, but he also didn't feel like he was going to drop from exhaustion. Which after the days he'd had, was something worth celebrating. 

It was a long trip, and they were only partway through it now. Even on a private jet, the trip between New York and Belgrade wasn't a quick one. The security team they alternated shifts with was also there, along with his team. It meant that including Pierce, there were 9 people present in the 12 person cabin. And while several of the security detail were taking advantage of the time to get some more rest before their arrival, there was no way Bucky would be joining them. 

Attempt sleep surrounded by his coworkers and boss, when he could awaken like he had the previous night? Not a chance in hell. He was still startled that he'd managed to sleep with Steve around earlier, but figured he could chalk that one up to exhaustion. 

It had turned out to be surprisingly restful, napping in the break room while Steve stretched out on the other couch, even if he still didn't get why the other guy had stayed. Bucky knew why he didn't want to venture back outside, too exhausted to even think about dealing with crowds or cars. But Steve? He could have gone home and rested there. 

Hell, the guy had even brought him food. A lot of it. Bucky had fallen asleep almost immediately after lying down in the break room, and when he'd woken, Steve looked like he was trying to feed a few linebackers. He'd brought back burgers, sushi, even a pizza. And when Bucky had looked at him, he'd just rubbed the back of his neck and muttered something about not knowing what Bucky would want. 

What a ridiculous punk. 

But he'd eaten his fill and fallen back asleep. Maybe it was the full belly, the exhaustion from lack of sleep, or just the stress of the maintenance that let him sleep that deeply. Or maybe it was Steve, sitting on the other couch. Just being there. 

Bucky hadn't been able to sleep with another person in the room in a hell of a long time. 

Either way, he'd managed four solid hours of uninterrupted rest, and that was something he had trouble doing in his own bed, even less so on a couch. Between those four hours and the few he'd grabbed scattered around that morning, he may have even gotten enough to qualify as a good night's rest. 

Just not entirely at night. 

Speaking of ridiculous punks, Bucky could see Steve in the chair across from him, wiggling around uncomfortably in his seat, shifting this way and that. 

"Too big for your chair there, pal?" He spoke quietly, feeling one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. 

Steve gave him a dirty look. "Just trying to get comfortable. I've never been good at sitting for this long." 

That had definitely been true when they were kids. The Everetts had dragged them to church every Sunday for a few years when they were kids, but that had ended after the sketchbook incident. Bucky would just slouch down, get comfortable and zone out. But Steve would wiggle around, bored and distracted. Church had gotten a lot more fun once he'd started sneaking in his sketchbook, and entertaining the both of them with doodles of the church and its patrons.

But that had ended when an elderly woman who sat near them caught sight of it, and gave Steve a tongue lashing after the service. The Everetts had been furious and embarrassed over their apparent blasphemy, and stopped taking them along. It was one of the few times he could remember Steve getting in more trouble than him.

There was always the option to recline his chair and sleep, but Steve had shown about as much inclination to do that as Bucky had. But at least he had something to work on, whereas Steve just had to entertain himself. 

Bucky was going to be a driver on this trip, which meant he was still pouring through maps, laid out on the table between him and Steve. The team had been there before of course, as the Belgrade office had been there for over ten years at this point. But each visit was another opportunity to improve his knowledge of the routes and imprint them into his mind. He'd also been periodically using the Cessna’s Wi-Fi to check traffic patterns and road construction. 

Being one of Pierce's drivers wasn't about being a good chauffeur or providing a smooth ride. It was about being able to get the hell out of dodge if the situation called for it. And it was kind of hard to do that if you didn't know where the fuck you were going or what roads were closed. 

He could see Rollins at the other end of the cabin, scanning over his own selection of maps. Technically, any of the security detail should be able to handle the driving, but the two of them had more experience with it. While looking over there, Rumlow caught his gaze. The security chief was seated across from Rollins in a copy of how he and Steve were sitting. Rumlow's expression was flat, almost emotionless, but he could see something hard and angry in the eyes. 

He really needed to get a handle this. 

Rumlow had in the past had jealous moments, or moments where he got angry and held a grudge. But he'd never let it show during work like this, never been quite as volatile as he had been lately. Bucky had the sinking feeling that whatever control he'd had over this situation was dwindling away the longer this went on. 

They'd been staring at each other for a few moments, before Rumlow looked back down at the reports he was reading. Bucky looked back down at his maps, to find Steve flipping through them. He paused on one in particular, before raising his head and shooting Bucky a curious look. 

"That's not Belgrade." 

"Gotta know all potential routes between our locations. Pierce likes to make the best use of his time overseas, so we always visit more than just the branch office," Bucky offered him a slight smile, "Don't worry about it, you'll be briefed when we arrive." 

"I'm surprised we weren't briefed before leaving," Steve commented, drawing a finger across one of the maps. 

Bucky just shrugged, "You're given information when you need it. No sense in loading up on info for you to forget on the long flight, unless you're going to be studying it the whole time." 

Shifting the map he'd been studying back over to him, he settled back into it. They had roughly another four hours of flight ahead of them, and he had plenty more to go over. 

\---- 

"Team two, secure the secondary location and prepare for arrival tomorrow." 

The other security team broke away from them, going to one of the three vehicles that had been waiting for them after exiting the airport. Bucky's shifted his gaze back to Rumlow, who was giving last minute instructions. They'd been briefed just before arrival at the airport. Hopefully what information was included had satisfied Steve's curiosity, although he knew it wasn't much. They'd been given the bare bones of the schedule and the locations in Belgrade, but not much about what was happening tomorrow. 

As one of the drivers, Bucky already knew they were going to the Bijeljina site tomorrow. To a certain extent he understood why Rumlow was so sparse with information, but on the other hand, was it really necessary to conduct the briefings a day at a time? 

"Rollins, follow us to the office, and then do a sweep of the house and surrounding neighborhood. Take Rogers." 

Bucky switched his gaze over to Rollins in surprise. He'd been paired with Steve since the guy had started working; he hadn't expected they'd be split up now. He turned back however, as Rumlow finished, "Barnes, you're with me." 

So he was going to be stuck with a pissed off Rumlow all day while they followed Pierce around through god-awful meetings and tours. Great. 

Moving towards his vehicle, Bucky offered a slight shrug at Steve in passing. The guy had a slightly confused expression on his face and looked as surprised at being separated as he was. He climbed into the driver's seat, making his adjustments and waiting for Pierce and Rumlow to get settled in. 

Pierce and Rumlow were carrying on a quiet conversation as they both slid into the back seat. When the team was split into groups of two like this, one person was always situated in the back seat with Pierce, to better cover him or provide assistance if it was needed. 

While waiting, Bucky shifted the metal arm slightly to gauge how his shoulder felt. Still a slight ache, but very diminished from earlier. It shouldn't impair him, unless he did something more to it. He just needs to make sure that he sleeps on it _properly_ , tonight. 

Finally, he got the notification from Rollins that they're ready, his own passengers are settled in, and they're on their way. 

The roads never look the same as they do on maps and images. There's always something different, although it's familiar enough from their last visit that at least Bucky isn't freaking out about everything. That means he can focus more on the other cars around them, intent on noticing if any of them behave suspiciously. 

A taxi a couple cars behind them appeared to be one fucking foot away from causing an accident, but at least that just seems to be a combination of bad driving and over-aggressive pigheadedness, not nefarious intent. 

Goddammit. Why was traffic this bad at 11 in the fucking morning? 

His attention was briefly distracted from the road by a raised voice from the back seat. 

"What do you mean they failed?" At some point, Pierce had switched from talking to Rumlow, to talking on his phone. 

"Those subjects were perfect. Do you understand the impact of a failure right now?" Whatever was going on, Pierce's tone held a note of tightly controlled fury that Bucky was used to hearing right before someone got fired. 

He made a point of shifting his attention back to the congested road, and scanned the nearby pedestrians as the road they were on settled into a slow pace of alternating stops with incremental shifts forward. Perfect spot for an ambush, and so many pedestrians around. At least it wasn't winter yet, so he didn't spot any coats heavy enough to hide huge artillery. 

Of course, all it really took was one gun if someone knew what they were doing. Or a fucking sniper, and then he'd never even see it coming. 

It was with a sense of relief as he turned the car onto another road with a bit less traffic and a faster rate of travel. And despite himself, he flicked his eyes up to the rear view mirror to catch a glimpse of Pierce, having lost track of the conversation in his tension. 

The businessman had a frown on his face, still talking on the phone, "I expect you to take care of this. You'd better have something to show me tomorrow." 

Tomorrow? One of the scientists in Bijeljina must have screwed something up majorly, if he was calling Pierce to warn him beforehand. Then again, maybe the guy thought it'd be safer to not be standing in front of Pierce when disappointing him. 

It wasn’t. Time just gave Pierce more time to hone his anger, and decide what to do with you. 

But that was the end of the conversation, which was good timing as they were pulling up in front of the branch office. One of the local employees, someone he vaguely recognized from a previous visit, was rushing over. Even Alexander Pierce couldn't leave his car right in front of the building, after all. 

Once they'd all left the car, Bucky handed over the keys, and then watched as the follow car with Steve and Rollins started up and sped away. They had all the bags, and were going to be responsible for settling in to their overnight location as well as conducting initial security sweeps. There was a wistful feeling in his chest, watching them leave. It sounded a lot nicer to be doing that work with Steve than standing at attention beside a brooding Rumlow for the next however many hours. 

This turned out be a very true statement. 

After a small lunch, they spent the next several hours shuffling from one meeting to the next. There was a planned tour of the attached lab, but Bucky didn't hold out any hope of that being more interesting. The meetings were closed off with small numbers of people, but in between, any number of people passed by, so he had plenty to focus on. But despite that, he found himself unusually restless. 

This might have something to do with the tall security chief constantly by his side. Bucky wasn't sure how to handle this. They were supposed to be working, putting aside any personal issues and remaining focused. In the past, he'd been able to push past any issues or disagreements they'd had, and to be frank, this wasn't the worst argument they'd ever had. 

Hell, there hadn't even been much of an argument. Just one incident after another, each worse than the one before. 

And now, Bucky was finding himself hyper focused. But not on the strangers and potential threats, the multitude that filled the room with Pierce or passed him in the hallway. He tried, but his attention kept getting drawn to Rumlow instead. It felt like he had something buzzing under his skin, something alarmed and anxious. 

They were following Pierce to his next meeting, and the hallways thankfully weren't particularly busy. This was the final meeting of the day, before the scheduled tour of the lab next door. All Bucky could do was just hope that this day would be over soon, and that Rumlow would let him have some breathing room. 

"Wait outside," Pierce said to them, having come to a stop at a door. 

One of these meetings, then. Pierce periodically had meetings where they waited outside for however long it took. At least from what he could see of the office before Pierce shut the door behind him, this was just with one person. He got a bit twitchy when these meetings happened, especially if there was a room full of people on the other side. How were they supposed to protect Pierce from a room full of people they couldn't see? 

Briefly, Bucky wondered what Pierce could even get out of a closed-door meeting with a local HR rep. He didn't think most CEOs would spend some of their precious time visiting a branch office in meeting with small-time employees who couldn't have much of a connection to him. 

He didn't usually spend time thinking about these things. But as he settled in next to the door to watch the empty hallway, he found himself desperately focusing on them in an attempt to avoid fixating on the man only a couple feet away from him, standing at attention on the other side of the door. 

"You're distracted today," Rumlow noted in a low voice, and Bucky chanced a glance to see that he was studying the empty hallway rather than looking at him, "You need to pick up your game, Barnes." 

"I know." 

They were overseas. If there was any point at which he needed to be focused, this was it. 

"Good thing I paired Rogers with Rollins instead of you. If your focus is this bad with me, it'd have been majorly fucked around him." 

That earned an incredulous look from Bucky, but he kept his mouth shut. If they hadn't been working, there were a lot of things he would have liked to say in response to that. Did Rumlow actually think he was focusing better because they were working together? After the past few days, that was impairing his concentration, not helping it. 

Besides, just being friends with Steve didn't mean he couldn't do his job. He wouldn't call what he had with Rumlow a friendship, but at least up until their recent issues, it hadn't ever impaired his work. 

But Bucky knew better than to start a conversation like that right now. Not here, not while working. 

"Rollins will give me his appraisal of the guy later. I wouldn't get too attached _Bucky_ , Rogers might not be sticking around long." 

But apparently, Rumlow didn't know better. 

"He's done a good job so far. As well as we could hope for with someone new," he muttered before falling silent as a person walked down the hallway. Suit jacket, no obvious bulges from weaponry. Difficult to tell build under the jacket, but looked on the heavier side. He didn't look like a threat. But still they both waited, watching, until that person had crossed out of sight into a nearby office. 

"Yeah, well I can't exactly trust your judgment on him," Rumlow scoffed in an irritated tone, and Bucky felt a snap of anger in response. 

But he kept his voice quiet even as he filled with tension and hissed back, "Your goddamn jealousy is no reason to doubt Steve. He's been doing a good job, and that doesn't have a single thing to do with whatever the fuck you think about me." 

"You really think you're objective about him?" Bucky caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, of Rumlow turning towards him as he continued, "You've been twisted all up over him since the moment he stepped out of that elevator. Your judgment of him is a fucking joke." 

Goddammit, this was exactly the conversation he'd been trying to avoid. His shoulders tightened, and his stomach clenched as he floundered for words. There was plenty of crap he'd like to say. But they were at _work_. This wasn't the time for emotional crap or fights. 

"And if you don't do your goddamn job better, you won't be here much longer either." 

It felt like there was a block of ice in his chest, freezing him up entirely at those words. All Bucky could do was stare at Rumlow, a cold shock setting in. He was having _one_ bad day. He'd done his fucking job for years regardless of what kind of state he was. He has one bad day, one day where his focus is off, and Rumlow pulls out a threat like that? 

And suddenly, it hit Bucky just how bad this was. They were only even having this discussion at work because Rumlow changed up the placements. They'd never had their issues creep into work time before. Rumlow was an asshole, but he thought the guy was more professional than that. And while Rumlow was an asshhole, he must have been a goddamn naive child to think that would never affect them at work. 

Apparently all it took was Bucky having a friend, and professionalism flew out the window in the face of Rumlow's jealousy. 

Rumlow wasn't technically his boss, but had the power to adjust placements and work shifts. He could even fire people, although he'd have to explain the reasoning to Pierce. But Bucky knew, a queasy shifting in his stomach, that Pierce would buy whatever crap Rumlow claimed about him. And all the fears his maintenance had stirred up yesterday, the anxiety about his Pierce Industries-owned prosthetic, surged back up. Would he even be allowed to keep it if he got fired? 

For the first time, it occurred to him that fucking Rumlow could create problems worse than just their fights. 

Apparently Rumlow took his silence as some kind of acceptance, or submission, or who the fuck even knows, and twisted his lips up in a smug smile. 

"Ask yourself this, Barnes: what the hell was Rogers doing in the building yesterday?" 

Bucky blinked, trying to track the conversation. Rumlow still seemed stuck on the Steve part of their argument. Did he not realize he'd just fucking threatened to _fire_ him? What did it even matter what Steve was doing there? 

"He was probably there to use the gym," he managed, trying to figure out what the hell Rumlow was even getting at. 

"Rogers lives in Brooklyn, he's not taking the train into Manhattan just to use the office gym," Rumlow flicked his gaze down the hall, but returned it to Bucky after a moment, "And Dr. Bell reported him at your maintenance." 

Bucky felt like he'd been thrown around in a mixer with the amount of sense this conversation was making. And what the hell, did Rumlow always get reports about his maintenance? He thought those were private, or at least not in the purview of the goddamn chief of security! 

"I invited him." 

"Yeah. Convenient, isn't it? The guy just happened to be there the morning you were getting maintenance, and he wrangled an invitation. He probably learned a hell of a lot, getting to see all the inner workings of that thing," Rumlow smirk had disappeared, something sharp edged entering his voice, "Just like he happened to be the perfect candidate for a sudden job opening on short notice. Just like he happened to be long-lost friends with the one member of the security detail who has a Pierce prosthetic." 

Bucky was starting to understand what Rumlow was implying here. But he couldn't be serious, that was ridiculous, "You don't-" 

"And if you'd open up your eyes and do your _goddamn job_ , maybe I'd trust your judgment a little more. Instead, you're all googly-eyed, and it's a fucking embarrassment." 

Rumlow had hissed out the last words quietly, which was a good thing as that was the moment that the door opened and Pierce rejoined them. And Bucky was left to flounder in silence, still reeling from the wild angles their conversation had turned at. 

They followed Pierce down the hallway as a local employee joined them, some scientist stammering out a nervous greeting and overview of the lab they'd soon be touring. But try as he might, Bucky found himself having even more difficulty focusing than before. 

Rumlow couldn't seriously believe what he was implying about Steve. But at the same time, there was a little voice reminding him of that incident in Pierce's office not too long ago, the bugs they'd found. Someone had been trying to listen in. And if a competitor wanted to understand the prosthetics better, observing maintenance was a good way to do that. 

Corporate espionage was always a concern at Pierce Industries. They didn't want anyone getting the jump on the work they did there. But Steve? No fucking way. 

But why _had_ Steve been at work yesterday? 

Now as he followed along on the tour, he the scientists in their coats and the executives in their suits. He noted potential weapons and dangers, but it was in a distant and clinical fashion. The possibilities wouldn't stop buzzing around in his head, alongside that was a stunned shock and a strange tightness in his chest. 

Whenever he chased Rumlow's suspicions about Steve out of his head, that not-so-subtle threat he'd made slipped in instead. It made him realize just how his life could get fucked up if his thing with the security chief went sideways was terrifying, and what was even worse was that he could already see it happening. 

He'd felt so calm on the jet, almost relaxed. But now, with the warnings Rumlow had just thrown at him? The possibility that Steve could be here just to learn about their tech, might just be using him? Even just thinking about it fucking _hurt_. 

Bucky didn't even want to let that insidious little whisper about Steve any room in his head, but it wouldn't go away. He needed one good thing in his life, especially if he was fucking up his life as badly as it seemed. Steve had been his friend, _is_ his friend.

Right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Bucky. Starts to get some kind of equilibrium, and then it's all thrown off again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I think that I should be able to get next week's chapter out on time, the following week may be delayed. My sister is getting married in less than two weeks and I'm her maid of honor, so my schedule's going to be kind of crazy. Basically, just expect one chapter sometime in these two weeks, and then back to a normal posting schedule after that.
> 
> Time for a Steve chapter! The plot is chugging along.

"Is everything secured?" Rollins was speaking into a cell phone, back turned towards him. Steve stopped, just outside the kitchen. His position in the hallway had the benefit of being far enough back that he wouldn't be visible if Rollins turned, but close enough he could claim to be just waiting politely for the call to finish if he was spotted. 

"Alright, finish the check at the lab, and then you're clear for the rest of the night. ETA for tomorrow is 10." 

Rollins ended the call, sliding the phone into his pocket and turning around. Steve took that moment to step forward into the room, offering the other man a smile, "That the secondary team?" 

"Yeah. Just checking in before taking the night off," Rollins shook his head, a crooked grin on his face, "Wish we could have the night off. There are some fun places to while away the hours around here." 

"I'm sure." 

They'd finished their sweeps just a short while before, and now were stuck in the position that security everywhere both hated and dealt with on a regular basis: waiting. Steve found himself incredibly grateful that he'd been recruited by SHIELD instead of actually being discharged and finding work like this. 

At least they hadn't had to bring in the bags and sort those out. A housekeeper had taken care of that, which he hadn't really been expecting, but it made sense in retrospect. Someone had to take care of this house whenever there weren't visiting bigwigs staying there. The house wasn't overly massive, but it was still a good sized place with a few bedrooms. 

Technically security had to double up in two of the rooms. But they were handling night shifts in teams of two, so no one was actually sharing a bedroom while they slept. 

Glancing at the clock, Steve figured they still had hours before any of the others returned to the house. 

He pulled out a chair and turned his gaze to Rollins as he sat down, "So have you done a lot of these trips?" 

Rollins turned away from the window, joining him at the table as he spoke, "Yeah. This is a cushy trip, to be honest. Calm area, a house already vetted and swept. Still have to be on alert, but nothing like some of our trips." 

"I had heard Pierce sometimes makes humanitarian visits to disaster areas. I'd imagine the situation there's pretty different," Steve offered up cautiously, leaning back in his chair in an effort to seem relaxed. 

He hadn't had too many opportunities to talk to Jack Rollins yet, Rumlow's unofficial 2IC, and this could be a good chance to learn a little more. 

"Pierce likes to get in early when something's happened, and start setting things up for PI to get involved. Means we're often working in places a lot less stable than this. You should be glad your first trip was here, things should go a lot smoother." 

"It makes good press for PI, but I'm surprised the CEO personally goes on those kinds of trips," Not that Steve bought the humanitarian explanation, but even if he did, the time Pierce spent on them seemed excessive, "It seems like it takes up a lot of his time." 

Rollins shrugged at him, "It's an investment. Start out with humanitarian aid, medical supplies and tech. Then he's got the connections he needs, and it doesn't take long to turn that into business opportunities." 

Steve considered him for a moment before noting curiously, "It sounds like you know this all pretty well. You've worked for Pierce for a while?" 

"Seems like forever at this point. Brock and I got hired together after we'd been working private security for some rich bastard. God that was boring work. Party after party, not a bit of excitement to spice things up," Rollins grimaced, and Steve had to remind himself who Brock was. He'd never actually heard anyone call Rumlow by his first name before. 

"You and Rumlow were already working together?" 

Steve already knew the basics thanks to SHIELD's intel, but there was no reason to let on. 

"We served together. Got out around the same time, decided to make a go at the security business." 

Rollins paused, pursing his lips together for a moment as he studied Steve. Finally, he continued, but without the friendly tone he'd been maintaining through their conversation. Now, his voice held a note of warning, "You should watch yourself with him, Rogers." 

Steve blinked in surprise, but didn't get a chance to say anything before Rollins continued, "I don't know what exactly's going on, but I've got an idea. And trust me, you don't want to fuck with him. The guy can be kind of crazy about some things and you've already started to set him off." 

"Thanks for the warning," Steve offered up stiffly, at a loss for how to respond. He stood up, moving to get a water bottle from the fridge just to have something to do. 

As he was pulling the bottle out of the fridge, he heard Rollins speak again. 

"That thing he's got with Barnes? It'd be better for everyone if you left it alone. Don't screw with it, and maybe things'll settle down." 

Steve took a gulp of water, and pushing back the anger simmering in his belly. Fat chance of that, there was no goddamn way he was leaving this alone. Even if it made him an awful spy. He could handle the lectures from Coulson. He could even handle getting pulled from this mission, if it came to that, but he wasn't leaving Bucky alone. 

For right now, Steve could make this work. He'd beat back his fury about Rumlow, about the fucked up situation his friend was in. He'd almost lost it the other day, with what he'd walked in on at the gym. Coulson talking in his ear that whole time was the only reason he'd been able to hold it together, and it had still been close. 

On one hand, he knew it was a good thing that he hadn't lost it and beaten the crap out of Rumlow right then and there. He would have been fired, the mission would have been ruined, and he had a feeling things with Bucky wouldn't have gone well. But on the other hand, he was still burning to get chance at him. 

But he would try to keep this going, because there was one thing that might make holding back now worthwhile. If Steve could prove the security chief was involved in Pierce's crimes, he could get that asshole locked up alongside him. And that would be even more satisfying than beating him to a pulp, with the added bonus of getting him away from Bucky. 

Steve didn't care if Bucky wanted help or not, he was going to help his friend. It didn't matter if he had to struggle to find the line between completing his mission and helping Bucky. He'd do whatever he had to. 

He wasn't leaving Bucky. Not this time. 

After that, the easy rapport between Rollins and himself died down. Steve's quietly simmering anger killed his own attempts at friendliness, and Rollins seemed less than enthused about Steve's response to his warning. Steve did get another piece of information, but it wasn't from Rollins. 

Coulson relayed to him that Natasha, still stuck in New York for her own cover, had been looking through property records. As far as the official holdings went, Pierce Industries didn't own or lease any real estate or land in Bosnia at all. Whatever was going on Bijeljina, it was off the books. 

They didn't have much information, but it was enough that a small SHIELD team was scouting the town and talking to their contacts in the country, to see what they could find out. Even just the tidbit that Steve had overheard earlier helped, as now they at least had confirmation that it was a lab they were looking for. 

It's evening before the other half of the security team and Pierce joined them at the house, and Steve was grateful for something to disrupt the quiet boredom that had set in. 

Pierce immediately disappeared down a hallway, presumably to get some sleep, while Rumlow had drawn Rollins into another room. Steve assumed they probably wouldn't be too long. The first watch was supposed to be Rollins and himself, unless Rumlow was going to change things up again. 

Steve really wouldn't have a problem with that, so long as it meant he got paired with Bucky. Things had been slightly awkward with Rollins, but they still worked fine. But if he got partnered with Rumlow, he knew the night wouldn't end well. 

The others all clearing out so quickly meant that Steve was left in the hallway with Bucky. Steve offered up a smile, glad to see a friendly face, but felt his smile falter at the response. Or rather, the lack of a response. 

Instead of smiling back or offering a greeting, Bucky's gaze skittered away from Steve and scanned the hallway. His expression was guarded, tension visible around his eyes. 

Something was wrong. 

"Hey, Bucky," Steve started slowly, mind running through possibilities. Had something happened at the offices? It could be something mission-relevant. Or it could be to do with spending the day with Rumlow. 

"Long day?" Start casual. Maybe he was just stressed from the work. 

"Yeah," Bucky scrubbed one hand over his face in a tired motion before muttering, "Way too fucking long." 

"Is everything okay?" Steve hadn't actually meant to blurt that out. He'd intended to come at it sideways, try to coax Bucky into talking, not charge in like a bull. 

"Just peachy," Bucky said flatly. 

_Great job, Rogers. You really got him to open up._

Steve floundered, but before he could try to salvage it, Bucky continued, "Actually, I uh...I've got a headache. Might just crash until my shift." 

Bucky wouldn't look at him. There was a flash of hurt in his belly as he watched his friend go down the hall, avoiding his gaze the whole time. Bucky stopped in front of a door, hesitantly turning his eyes to Steve for what felt like the first time since he'd gotten back. 

His jaw worked for a moment, looking like he was building up to something, but he seemed to lose his nerve and instead just asked quietly, "Which room?" 

"Your bag's in the room on the left." 

Bucky had slipped into the room in question, shutting the door softly behind him. And Steve just stood there, staring at the door, with a mix of hurt and confusion spinning around him. Even when Bucky had been stressed and upset the night of the gala, he hadn't seemed as closed off as he did now. 

Steve flinched at a sound from behind him, and turned to see Rumlow strolling down the hall. There was something smug in his face, and he felt a wave of irritation that he'd been so distracted by Bucky that he hadn't even realized the security chief was there. How long had he been there? 

Rumlow didn't say anything, just kept his mouth shut with a smug little smirk, as he passed by to the remaining empty bedroom. 

What the hell had just happened? 

\---- 

"We'll be tracking your location and following, but won't be in line of sight." 

Coulson's voice in his ear was tense with anticipation. This was their first chance at finding an active lab. They didn't want to mess this up or set off any suspicions, in case any of the security detail noticed that they were being followed. 

The cars had been pulled around to the front of the house, and were ready to go. To his frustration, Steve had been paired with Rollins again. Bucky was still acting as strange and distant as he had last night, and Steve really just wanted a chance to talk to him in private. A chance he wasn't going to get, if Rumlow had his way. 

But as he was moving towards the follow car, Pierce paused by his own door and called out, "Rogers, why don't you join me? We haven't had many opportunities to talk yet." 

Well, he had wanted to be partnered with Bucky. He just hadn't pictured Pierce in the car as well. 

"Of course, sir." 

Steve moved towards the first car instead, passing by Rumlow as the other man gave him an irritated look. Clearly he didn't like this change, but he also wasn't about to argue with his boss about it. 

He wasn't sure what to think of this. It would mean that he'd be able to listen in should Pierce make any phone calls, but Pierce wanting to talk to him meant more chances to trip up. Was this just one of Pierce's usual tactics with new employees? Or was he looking for something specific? 

Steve slid into the backseat of the car on the side opposite Pierce, his eyes immediately moving to Bucky, already sitting in the driver's seat. All he could see was the side of Bucky's head, his hair pulled back in a tail, as the guy just stared straight ahead and waited. He mentally urged Bucky to give him a look, a shrug, a smile, anything. Hell, he'd even take a glare if the guy would just look at him. 

But Bucky continued to just look straight ahead. A moment later, he heard Rollins in his ear piece reporting that the follow car was ready, and they were moving. 

Despite Pierce's claim of wanting to talk, the car was silent for a short while. He had his phone out and appeared to be reading emails, while Steve sat there feeling awkward and uncomfortable. 

Maybe that was the point. If this was a test, he might want Steve off-balance. 

When they had just turned onto the motorway heading west out of Belgrade, Pierce finally put down his phone and looked at Steve. There was a smile on the CEO's face, but it was the smile of a shark contemplating its next meal. 

"You've had a few days to find your bearings now. How are you finding the work?" 

"I'm enjoying it. There's a lot of variation from day to day with all the events you attend. It's refreshing," Steve offered up politely, unsure what Pierce was looking for. 

Something honest seemed like a good approach. The truth was that for a security job, there was a surprising amount of variability. The gala, this trip, in addition to a couple days of a normal work schedule, had provided a more interesting schedule than working security for another person may have. 

Pierce nodded amiably, casually noting, "I'm sure your transition to work here went smoother with Barnes' help. I was surprised to hear you already knew him." 

Steve saw Bucky's shoulder twitch, and guessed that he hadn't said anything to Pierce about it. Which meant that Rumlow had been talking to Pierce about him. 

With a growing sense of unease, Steve responded, "It was a surprise for me too. We hadn't seen each other in a long time. He's been a great help." 

"Of course. Did you go to PI yesterday just to be with him during the maintenance? You're quite the loyal friend, for not having seen him in so long." 

Steve knew in his gut now that something was wrong. Perce was probing his story, seeing if he'd slip up. He didn't know for sure what had drawn attention, but Pierce was fishing. Something had made him suspicious. And in what was a very bad sign, he wasn't bothering to put much effort into hiding those suspicions. 

This wasn't a casual conversation. It was an interrogation. 

"My paperwork was missing some information needed for my healthcare plan, and I was asked to come in and take care of that before flying out. Since I was already there, I thought I'd check out the gym and came across him by accident." 

A true statement, but a calculated one. Natasha had simply arranged for a part of his paperwork to be lost, making a convenient excuse for him to be at the offices. Steve had gone to the gym in search of a member of the secondary security detail, who tended to spend his breaks working out. Natasha had reported that he seemed chatty and sociable, making him potentially a good source of information. 

Seeing as how the only person he had a good rapport with on his own team was Bucky, it made sense to try and cultivate some other sources of intel. But that plan had fallen apart the moment he'd walked into the gym and found Bucky and Rumlow. 

Pierce made a non-committal sound, studying Steve's expression for several long moments. The older man's gaze shifted to the window then, and the car fell into another spell of quiet. Steve was vaguely aware of a gradual shift in the landscape outside as they left the city behind, but his attention remained hyper-focused on the man sitting beside him. 

The prolonged quiet was beginning to wear on him. He couldn't tell if he was soothing Pierce's concerns, or just making them worse. Then he heard Clint's voice quietly in his ear, providing support, "We're five minutes behind you if you need us, Cap." 

It was a relief knowing his back up was close by and listening, but that was no guarantee of this going well. And with any luck, this was a salvageable situation. If he had to be extracted, that may well ruin SHIELD's chances. It would tip off Pierce to what sort of attention he had gained, if he didn't already know. 

But if Pierce suspected he was SHIELD, why interrogate him like this, couched as a casual conversation with only one member of security detail present as a driver? Why not somewhere more of his detail were there to intervene? This setting didn't make sense if he thought Steve was a physical threat. 

And if he knew SHIELD, he had to know they'd be such a threat. 

But he didn't get any longer to ponder that, as Pierce finally turned his sharp eyes back to Steve. 

"The work isn't too different from what you've done before, is that right? You did security for some sort of business before we hired you?" 

There was a moment where Steve frantically ran through his cover, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, you must be thinking of someone else. I worked security for a private individual before this." 

Steve had been desperately hoping for something to crop up and turn this conversation in a new direction, but it still took him by surprise when he heard Bucky speak from the front seat. 

"Follow car, do you see the gray Niva passing you?" 

Bucky's voice was low, something tense and coiled in it, and Steve craned his head to look out the back window. He could see a gray vehicle which was presumably the Niva, as Bucky had called it, a foreign looking Jeep-like vehicle, moving at a quick pace. 

Rollin's voice responded quickly, "We see it. It's been on the road with us since not long after Belgrade." 

Steve wasn't sure what had tipped Bucky off to something being wrong. But it was obvious a moment later that his instincts were right on track. 

The other car had sped up even more, seeming to be in a hurry to get somewhere. But just as it was almost clear of them, it swung suddenly into their lane. Bucky let out a snarled swear as he jerked the wheel, sending them sharply down an exit lane off the motorway to avoid being hit. 

Steve caught a glimpse of the Niva barreling after them, horns blaring from other cars on the motorway. But it was only a brief glimpse before Bucky's voice registered sharply, "Get down!" 

He realized only when he'd pulled Pierce down and was folding himself over the CEO, that he'd obeyed the command in Bucky's voice instinctively. The reason for the order became clear a moment later, as a familiar sound rang out and the car swerved. 

They were being shot at. 

Steve kept his head down, keeping Pierce flattened against the seat even as the man issued a sharp order, "Get us out of here!" 

"Working on it." Bucky responded, his voice tight. 

There was a crunching sound as the car jerked again. Steve's head crept up, catching a glimpse of the attacking car swinging out to the right of them, trying to get alongside them after an attempt at hitting the back corner of their car failed to stop them. 

"Fucking hell Steve, stay down!" 

Steve flattened himself again. 

"Follow car, they're trying to force us somewhere. We need backup, where are you?" 

Rumlow's voice came in over the ear piece this time, responding tersely, "On our way. That stunt with the exit slowed us down." 

Bucky let out a wordless snarl, and hit the brakes suddenly. They slowed, and Steve caught a glimpse of the Niva shoot out in front of them before Bucky spun the wheel and sped them down a small side road that the Niva had been blocking. 

But they hadn't lost the other car, as the shots that rang out a moment later made clear. Glass shattered and Steve turned his face as shards rained down over them in the backseat. The back window was gone. 

Goddammit, he felt useless. He had one hand on his holster, but couldn't even lay down cover fire without uncovering Pierce. His had to keep the target alive. 

"Agent Rogers, we're close behind but do not have visual. We have agents checking what groups are active in the area," Coulson's voice was curt. 

This wasn't SHIELD. Who else had Pierce gotten the attention of? 

"Lead car, we have you in sight," Rollins reported, "Take the next turn." 

A moment later Steve felt the car swing widely, not even slowing down as they made the turn. There was a crunching sound as the car ran over something. A moment later there was an even larger sound of metal on metal, and Steve raised his head to catch a glimpse of the follow car hitting the back corner of the Niva as it attempted to follow, spinning it off the road and into a tree. 

Glass slid off his back as he sat up more, and he realized that what they'd ran over was a fence post, taken out in their hasty turn. They kept going, the car speeding along, even as he saw that the Niva and the follow car had stopped. 

"Wait, shouldn't we-" 

"They'll take care of it. Our job is to get our boss the fuck out of here," Bucky growled out the words in a low, harsh tone. His hands appeared steady, but at a closer look, Steve realized his right hand was clenched so tightly on the steering wheel that his knuckles were white. 

Steve's attention was drawn away from Bucky as Pierce shifted and sat up, any sound of glass covered up by the roar of wind and road noise that filled the car now. Pierce looked rumpled, his hair made wild by the wind, but other than that seemed strangely calm. 

"Sir, are you alright?" 

Pierce cast a brief look at Steve, dismissing him with a shake of his head, "I'm fine. Barnes, get us off this road as soon we're clear. I need to make a call." 

There was something coldly furious in the older man's voice that spoke of impending violence. There was a stillness in him in that moment. It wasn't a stillness of a frightened animal, however; it was the stillness of a snake coiled to strike. 

One thing was clear: Pierce had more enemies out there than just SHIELD. Pierce's meticulous security detail, the secrecy of his movements overseas, the way how even when he was at home for the night he had a security team on watch – he was prepared for this, for an attack. 

It made sense now, why SHIELD had struggled to gain any actionable intel, despite the man seeming unaware of them. There was another player involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's curious, the car featured in this chapter is a Lada Niva. Basically think a Russian-made SUV type thing that's very, very utilitarian. You can check it out on [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lada_Niva).


End file.
